


just our hands (clasped so tight)

by Daecyan_Shikoba



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Comic Book Science, Developing Relationship, Established Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Flashbacks, Fluff, Glitch AU, Guilt, Happy Ending, M/M, Major Character Injury, Minor Character Death, Mpreg, Mutual Pining, Non-Graphic Violence, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Omega Tony Stark, POV Alternating, Past Heat-Related Dub-Con, Polyamory, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Relationship Negotiation, Requited Unrequited Love, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-27 14:45:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17768765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daecyan_Shikoba/pseuds/Daecyan_Shikoba
Summary: One call out to investigate a disturbance at the cemetery changes everything, and maybe, just maybe, gives them all a second chance. Love doesn't stop for anyone or anything. Not even death.





	just our hands (clasped so tight)

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from death cab for cutie's "i will follow you into the dark", and now i'm going to take a moment to inform you all that picking the title was a Struggle. please enjoy the _very thinned out_ list of almost titles found in the end notes.
> 
> hoo boy, another year of the WinterIronShield Bang! i had the absolute pleasure to work with hazein this time around, and the artwork is so lovely! please be sure to [check it out](http://hazeinart.tumblr.com/post/182809198035/its-valentines-day-and-the-best-way-to-celebrate) and send all your love for it!

_just our hands (clasped so tight)_

* * *

 Bucky’s out on a call, just finishing up with it, anyway, when Clint radios in about a disturbance at the cemetery. Vandals, presumably, and the thought of it makes his stomach turn and blood boil. Stevie’s buried there, and if somebody’s mucked with his grave Bucky doesn’t want to have to go home and tell Tony. Tony’s only just begun to heal, _really heal_ , and it’s been _two years_.

The cemetery is a half-mile outside of town, and Bucky’s call-out was a quarter mile from it, so it doesn’t take him any time at all to get to the cemetery, but there doesn’t appear to be anything amiss at first glance when he pulls in. He puts his jeep in park, leaves the engine running, and slips out with a flashlight, holding it up as he moves. At first he doesn’t see or hear anything as he looks about, and he’s ready to chalk it up to a practical joke and head back home, but then someone whimpers to his left.

“Hello? I’m with the Timely Sheriff Department,” Bucky calls out, swinging the light towards the pained whimpering. He freezes when he spots a young woman clutching her leg, covered in mud, and, when he looks closer, completely naked.

“Help me, please,” she asks, and whimpers again when she moves and jostles her leg.

“Hey, hey, okay, yeah, I can do that, can you tell me your name?” he asks, crouching beside her as he shrugs off his jacket. She shakes her head and trembles some more as he carefully drapes his jacket over her shoulders, and Bucky bites back a sigh as he grabs his radio. “Dispatch, I’m gonna need medical here.”

A twig snapping further off snags Bucky’s attention, and he directs his flashlight at the sound, gaping at the sight of another mud-covered _bare-assed naked_ person. He glances back to the woman in front of him, and then back up, and then further out, at the rest of the cemetery. Two that he can see, both naked and both caked in mud.

“What the hell?” he whispers.

The sound of tires on gravel draws his attention back to the cemetery entrance, and he sees Doctor Bruce Banner hurrying out of his car, an armful of blankets clutched against his chest. Bucky helps his injured charge up and over to him, a little baffled. Bruce jerks his head in the direction of the back of Bucky’s jeep, and glances over to the others cautiously making their way towards Bucky and Bruce.

“No EMTs?”

“There was a callout to the next town over, and you didn’t say it was an emergency,” Bruce explains, and crouches down to inspect the young woman’s leg after Bucky’s opened the hatch and helped her sit on the edge. “We need to get this clean, and it’ll probably need some stitches,” he murmurs absently, “I can put some gauze on this until we get you to the clinic. I’ll wrap you up while Sheriff Barnes passes out blankets to your other friends.”

“They’re not my friends, I don’t know any of them. I don’t even know where I _am_.”

“Okay, that’s okay,” Bruce assures her, and passes the blankets over to Bucky.

Bucky sighs and turns towards the others, holding the blankets out. “What are you all doing out here? Anyone wanna give me their name? Partying hard, yeah?”

He’s met with baffled silence. Bucky sighs again.

“What do you wanna do, James?” Bruce asks, when Bucky’s managed to usher everyone over to his jeep and up into the back.

“I have no clue, Doc,” Bucky admits, “but I think they all need to be checked out. Must be on something. D’you think we could take ‘em all to the clinic?”

“Yeah, yeah that’s fine.”

“Alright,” Bucky glances back to the other two people with a sigh. “You take her, and I’ll get these two -”

“I think there’s another one in the bushes,” Bruce interrupts.

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose. “Right, of course. You take care of her, and I’ll get the others rounded up and we’ll meet you at the clinic.”

The person hiding in the bushes is another woman, and Bucky gently helps her wrap the blanket around her shoulders before ushering her to his jeep. She makes a lot of nervous, confused noises, but doesn’t put up a fuss when he guides her up into the back. Bucky gives one last cursory glance around before shutting the door and climbing into the front.

“I’m bringing you all to the clinic to get checked out by Dr. Banner,” he informs them, twisting around in the seat to meet their eyes, trying to be reassuring. “It’d be a real help if you could tell us what you took. I can’t charge you for anything because none of you have the drugs on you, so you don’t have to be afraid of that, okay?”

He’s met with more silence.

“Yeah, I figured as much,” he sighs, and turns back around.

The drive to the clinic is silent, after Bucky gives up trying to get any information from the people in the back of his jeep. Bruce’s car is already there when he pulls up, unsurprisingly, and he takes a moment to rub his eyes, subtly scenting the air and choking on the scent of confusion, fear, and mud. He ushers everybody out of the back of the jeep and into the reception area of the clinic, all of them clinging to the edges of their blankets. They all glance around, and then turn their gazes back on Bucky.

“Alright, wait right here, okay, I’ll be, uh, right back,” he instructs, and wanders further into the clinic, finding Bruce just finishing wrapping up the cut on the first woman’s leg.

“There we go,” Bruce says, and turns to Bucky. “I found another one. He’s getting cleaned up in the bathroom right now.”

“Huh,” Bucky huffs, “alright. You got anything the rest of these guys can put on?”

“Yeah, there’s some more scrubs in the back,” Bruce replies, and carefully helps his patient up off of the exam table. “Have you radioed into Clint yet? He’ll be wondering if everything’s fine.”

“Yeah, well, he radioed me first, letting me know his drunk sobered up so he was taking him home.” Bucky calls over his shoulder, opening doors until he finds the storage closet. “Hey, should we be worried about keeping them separated? They all smell too much like mud and confusion and fear, I couldn’t tell anyone’s designations.”

“Guess we’ll find out as we go!” Bruce answers.

Bucky sighs. Hopefully if there are any alphas and omegas, the alphas aren’t too drugged out to do something stupid. He doesn’t feel up to having to knock anybody out.

The scrubs are on the top shelf, and Bucky manages to yank them _all_ down on his head. He grumbles as he crouches down to pick them up, giving up on keeping them neat and orderly and instead just bunching them all up and carrying them back out to the reception area. The other woman who’d been hiding in the bushes is in with Bruce, and the two men are on opposite ends of the room. One’s inspecting the lamp like he’s never seen something like it before, and the other is staring at a poster about vaccinations.

“Alright you two, I’ve got something a bit better than blankets for you,” he says and dumps the scrubs on a couch and sorting through them to hand them over.

The one at the lamp comes over first, nose scrunching up a bit when his hand closes around the material. “What’s this?”

“Scrubs,” Bucky answers, quirking an eyebrow at him. “Can you tell me your name? Know where you live?”

“Um…”

“Why do you look familiar?” a voice asks from the right, a _familiar_ voice, and Bucky whips around, the air in his lungs freezing and heart lurching up into his throat.

"What - what the fuck is this?" Bucky demands, shaking off his shock and striding forward, ignoring the confused exclamations of the others as he reaches this - this _impostor._ "Who are you!?"

"I'm - my name is Steve," the impostor replies, brow furrowing.

"James, do you know him?" Bruce asks, having come out of the exam room at Bucky’s yell, just as Bucky exclaims:

"No, no you're _not._ "

"Yes I am! I'm Steve Rogers," the impostor insists, blue eyes impossibly wide, defiant and angry.

"Steve Rogers died two years ago!"

"I'm very much alive!"

"I just took his blood pressure, James, I promise you this man is alive and well," Bruce says.

Bucky snarls wordlessly and yanks his phone out of his pocket, unlocking it and pulling up his photos, scrolling through until he finds a picture of Tony and Steve before thrusting it at Bruce. "This is Steve Rogers! He's my _best friend_ and he died two fucking years ago!"

"That certainly looks like Steve," Bruce murmurs thoughtfully, eyes darting between Bucky's phone and the impostor standing a few feet away.

"I _am_ Steve!" The impostor yells, and thrusts out a hand, a golden band glinting between his fingers. "I was wearing this when I woke up, and it's got this inscription -"

"' _Your life is my life's best part'_ " Bucky says over the impostor, and remembers the way Steve's eyes had _shone_ when he'd showed it to Bucky after the wedding, hearts in his eyes. Anger burns in his stomach. "Did you fucking rob a grave to get that?"

" _No_ ! I keep fuckin' tellin' you _I'm Steve!_ "

"Bullshit!" Bucky snaps, and storms back over to the impostor, wrapping a hand around his wrist to drag him after him, towards the clinic's exit. "Steve is _dead_ and this sick fucking joke has to stop!”

“What the fuck, where the hell do you think you’re draggin’ me to?” the imposter snarls, aggression spiking his scent, but much like Steve, the imposter isn’t strong enough to break Bucky’s grip.

“To fucking make a fucking point,” Bucky snarls right back.

“James, wait a minute, just calm down!” Bruce exclaims, rushing after them.

“I will not fucking _calm down_ ,” he hisses.

“Just, wait, okay, wait a minute,” Bruce insists, hands raised, placating. “You said Steve Rogers is dead, right? And _he_ says he’s Steve Rogers. It’s as easy as pulling it up on the computer. Obituaries, yeah?”

“Steve Rogers is standing _right here_ , and he is _very much alive_ !” The imposter snarls, yanking sharply at his arm until Bucky finally lets him go. “What the fuck is _wrong_ with you, Buck?”

Bucky jerks and bares his teeth. “ _Don’t call me that_!”

“Alright,” Bruce says, calmly, firmly, and shifts to stand between them, holding his cellphone up. “I’ve got it right here,” he glances back to the imposter, looking sympathetic, “and according to this, you’re dead, Steve.”

“How can I be dead if I’m standing _right here_?”

“Just drop the fuckin’ act!” Bucky yells.

The imposter snarls wordlessly, shoving himself around Bruce. “If I’m dead and buried, then fucking prove it to me!”

“ _Gladly_ ,” Bucky snaps, grabs the imposter’s wrist once again.

“James!”

“Watch the others, Doc, I’ll be back!”

* * *

Bucky points the flashlight at Steve’s grave and nearly drops it when he spots the hole. Beside him the imposter has gone still, but Bucky’s attention is wholly on the hole that’s just the right size for a human to crawl out of. He stumbles closer, trembling, and crouches down beside it, reaching out and drawing his hand back like he’s been burned when he spots part of the silk lining of Steve’s coffin. He remembers standing beside Tony as he picked it out.

“What -”

The imposter - the - _Steve_ , Bucky’s brain screams - _Steve_ makes a startled, choking sound, and drops to his knees.

“Steve?”

Steve gasps again, and covers his face, shoulders shaking. “Oh, God,” he whispers, then, “ _Tony_.”

Bucky shuffles towards him, reaching out. “Steve - hey, hey it’s - Steve it’s okay, we’ll -”

“Shut the - shut up, it’s _not okay_ ,” Steve manages, moving his hands to glare at Bucky. “That - I _died_ , didn’t I? That’s my grave, isn’t it? I died and I left Tony all alone! I swore to him I wouldn’t and then I went and broke my promise!”

“Shit,” Bucky mumbles, then says it again louder when Steve jumps to his feet and bolts. “Steve, wait!”

Bucky stumbles to his feet, and promptly trips over the vase of flowers Tony must’ve put out earlier in the week. He curses, and shoves to his feet once more, but by then it’s too late. Steve’s gone.

“Fuck, for an asthmatic you’re ridiculously fast, Rogers,” he grumbles, and bends over to brush mud and grass from his jeans. He’s pretty confident he knows where Steve’ll end up, so once he’s cleaned himself up as best he can, Bucky pulls his notebook and a pen from his pocket and writes Steve’s name down before walking around inspecting the rest of the cemetery.

Steve’s grave, as Bucky suspected, isn’t the only one with a hole and a missing corpse. Five more to be precise. He takes down the names and dates on the headstones, making guesses as he does which one belongs to each of the folks back at the clinic. It’s clear they missed someone.

“The fuck is going on?” he sighs after a second sweep, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut.

His phone starts ringing then, pulling him from his thoughts. He answers after the third ring as he tucks his notebook and pen back into his shirt pocket, standing in front of Steve’s grave.

“Hey, Tony,” he says.

There’s a poem inscribed on the back of Steve’s headstone. Steve picked it out the second year of his marriage to Tony, after he got so sick they were all certain he’d die. It was Steve’s way of saying he’d always be there. Bucky remembers it word for word. Not because he was there when Steve was getting the stupid thing made, but because of the way Tony’s voice broke when he’d read it at Steve’s funeral, the way he started crying before he’d reached the end.

“Hi Bucks,” Tony says around a yawn. “Sorry to bother you but I just remembered that we’re out of milk and it’s not your fault but if I don’t have something to make chocolate milk when I get up in the morning I’m _probably_ going to bite your head off.”

Bucky snorts. “I’ll pick some up on the way home, Tones,” he promises.

“Thanks. See you then,” Tony murmurs. “I fully expect a foot rub, too.”

“Yessir,” Bucky laughs, then sobers in the next instant. “Actually, I might be late getting home, so that foot rub will probably have to wait for the morning.”

“That’s okay. Stay safe, yeah?”

“You know it.”

He hangs up, and presses the phone to his forehead, bowing his head.

* * *

“I knew you’d be here,” Bucky calls out, and Steve scrubs a hand over his face.

He shouldn’t have run, he knows that, but, well. He feels like it was a justifiable response to realizing he’s somehow _come back from the fucking dead_.

“I’m sorry I ran,” he says, and sits up properly from where he’d been stretched out along the slide.

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs, hands on his hips. “I get it, though.”

Steve snorts, and Bucky grins a little, looking a bit teary-eyed.

“Okay, so I don’t know what it’s like to come back from the dead, but I get it, it’s overwhelming.”

“I don’t really remember dying,” Steve admits. “I didn’t actually remember much of anything at first. Not my name, not until I saw my wedding ring. Well, I didn’t remember my last name until I saw you and you kept insisting I was dead.”

“It didn’t seem like any of the others remembered anything, either,” Bucky agrees.

“So the others are like me, then?”

“Seems like it,” he nods, sighing. “I had another look around the cemetery after you bolted, and there were other graves just like yours.”

“What the fuck is going on?” Steve asks.

“I dunno,” Bucky shakes his head, “nothing makes a goddamn bit of sense.”

“You’re telling me,” Steve huffs, and smiles when Bucky snorts.

“Let’s go back to the clinic, okay?”

“Okay,” he sighs, and gets up off of the slide. “What’re you gonna do, Buck?”

“No clue.”

“I was legally dead. The others are all probably legally dead, too.”

“I know.”

Steve peers up at Bucky, nudging him gently with an elbow. “At least I don’t have a hankering to eat your brain… Then again, you don’t have one, so you’d be safe even if I was craving brains.”

“Oh fuck you, asshole,” Bucky laughs, and jostles Steve amiably. “Little punk.”

“Jerk.”

“Ugh, god, I can’t believe I missed you,” Bucky chuckles, and tosses an arm around Steve’s shoulders, guiding him back towards his jeep.

Steve leans into him. “Do you have any pictures of Tony?”

“What?”

“Tony? Do you have any pictures of him on your phone?” Steve asks, and swallows down the anxiety. “I - I wanna make sure I’m remembering what he looks like, right.”

“Yeah, wait until we get back to the jeep, okay?”

“Okay.”

They walk the rest of the way in silence, and soon enough Steve’s buckled into the passenger seat and staring at a picture of him and Tony cuddling on a loveseat. He brushes his thumb carefully along Tony’s form, warmth suffusing him. He thinks he remembers when this was taken. A New Year’s get together at Bucky’s apartment.

He’d been nursing a beer before Tony’d come up and draped himself across Steve’s lap, smiling up at him, so happy and bright and warm. He thinks they’d talked about Tony’s upcoming heat earlier that day. He thinks they’d decided to try for a baby, and that’s why Tony looked especially happy.

His omega.

“Is - Is Tony okay?” Steve manages to ask around the lump in his throat.

Bucky hesitates, staring out at the road as he turns onto the street for the clinic. “He’s doing better,” he says, finally. “I won’t lie to you, Steve. He was a fuckin’ wreck.”

Steve winces and closes his eyes against the wave of guilt. “You took care of him for me, right?”

“Who do you take me for, punk? Of course I did,” Bucky huffs, and pulls into the clinic’s parking lot. “Between me and Rhodes, and Pepper, we kept him from going off the deep end completely.”

“Pepper and Rhodey?” Steve asks, and wracks his brain for a moment before remembering. Tony’s friends. Pepper still lives - well, back _before_ \- in Sacramento. Rhodey must’ve taken a leave or something, to be there for Tony.

Steve’s grateful that Tony had them and Bucky to be there for him.

“How’d I die, Buck?” Steve asks, turning in his seat to stare Bucky down. “Did I get sick again?”

Bucky laughs wetly and wipes at his eyes. “You asshole,” he whispers hoarsely. “You went and got yourself stabbed, and laid there until the omega you were defending could find help. It was _freezing_ , and the streets were nothin’ but slush and dirt. You died three days later, and the doctors weren’t sure if it was the pneumonia or an infection in the wound.”

Steve takes a deep breath, and glances back down at Bucky’s phone, the screen long since gone dark. “I was defending an omega?”

“Yeah,” Bucky confirms, with a weary sigh. “She was hysterical when she called it in. I guess some creep was following her, and she looked frightened enough that you stepped in. You were lucid, at the beginning. Said the alpha looked like he was gonna do something more than just scare the fuck outta her. Tony sat by your bedside the entire time.”

His heart breaks just thinking about it.

“Come on, let’s get back inside and figure this shitstorm out, alright?”

“Yeah, okay, but I wana see Tony, afterwards,” Steve says, and returns his gaze to Bucky’s, firm.

Bucky flinches and shakes his head. “We’ll - we’ll get this sorted, okay, then we’ll talk about that.”

“Tony is my mate, Buck, my omega, and I wanna see him,” Steve insists.

“I know, Stevie, I do,” Bucky replies, a snap to his words that Steve isn’t expecting. “But Tony’s got a heart condition, what do you imagine will happen if he sees you now? He thinks you’re _dead_ , and until a few hours ago you were! There is no explanation for this! We don’t know what’s going on, and Tony is in no condition to get a shock like this!”

“Bucky -”

“What happens if this is some - some fluke? What happens if it doesn’t last, or you drop dead in a couple hours, huh? What then? Tony won’t survive that, not again!”

Steve rears back, feeling a little like he’s been smacked. “I just -” he starts, then sighs, slumping. “You’re right.”

Bucky’s grip on the steering wheel tightens, the leather creaking, and he lets out a breath. “Sorry, I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “if I were you I’d wanna see my mate as soon as possible, I get it. I just - If Tony gets you back, and then loses you, it’d destroy him, and I don’t think there’d be any coming back from it this time.”

“I know,” Steve says, and reaches out to grip Bucky’s wrist. “Thank you. I’m so grateful he’s had you all this time.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says with a little strangled laugh, “of course, Steve. I love him, too, you know.”

“I know,” Steve smiles, squeezes Bucky’s wrist. “Come on, let’s get in there and figure this shit out, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay.”

* * *

Bucky nearly forgets the milk, mind so caught up with whatever the hell’s going on he has to double back to the store to pick it up, thinking about the people he’d found at the cemetery. The empty graves. The first woman, a redhead with the demeanor of someone who’s used to getting her way, had flat out refused to believe him at first. The only reason any of them had was thanks to Steve.

While they’d been gone Bruce had managed to coax out a name from Maria - Maria Hill, died 1965 at the age of 32 - and Thor - Thor Odinson, died 1817, aged 29, and who the fuck named their kid Thor in that day and age? - after a bit of careful questioning. The redhead hadn’t remembered her name until Bucky read her name - Natasha, no surname, died 1996, aged 20 - and she snapped that nobody called her Natasha, it was Nat. The last, Peter - Peter Parker, died 1984, aged 21 - was accounted for, leaving a Wade Wilson - died 1985, aged 30 - unaccounted for.

But now he’s home, with the milk, and more than ready to just drop into bed and sleep for a week. He puts the milk away and strips down to his briefs to shove his muddy uniform into the washer, pausing briefly by the open bedroom door, gazing at Tony laying on his side, illuminated by a thin sliver of moonlight shining in through the windows.

Bucky closes his eyes and leans his head against the door jamb, and thinks of Steve, his heart clenching, before opening his eyes to look at Tony again. His shirt is riding up over his belly, exposing the vulnerable roundness of pregnancy. It’s been months since he felt guilty about what happened, but now it hits him full force all over again.

He can’t imagine Steve ever forgiving him.

Tony snuffles and shifts, neck arching and exposing the faded scar of his bond mark, and Bucky jolts upright when he gets a proper look at it. It's still faded, but not nearly as faded as it was this morning. It has to be because of Steve, and if there was any doubt in Bucky's mind it's gone now, completely obliterated.

He needs to tell Bruce, and try to figure out if any of the others are mated. He's not even remotely prepared to try to explain this mess, and if bond marks are reacting to the fucked up resurrection of someone's mate, someone is gonna start asking questions.

So Bucky tiptoes his way back to the kitchen, and calls Bruce. Given the night they'd had, and the time now, Bucky's not even a little surprised to get Bruce's voicemail. He leaves him a message asking him to please call asap, and drops his phone back onto the counter with a sigh.

“Bucks?” Tony mumbles, shuffling into the kitchen, squinting against the light. “Why're you half-naked in the kitchen?”

“You should be in bed, Tony,” Bucky replies, but smiles tiredly at him.

“I thought I heard someone talking, and plus I had to pee,” Tony yawns, and rubs his belly gently. “The baby's been doing the tango on my bladder all night.”

Bucky chuckles, and walks over to him, placing gentle hands next to Tony's. “You should be kinder to your papa, kiddo,” he whispers, leaning down to talk to Tony's stomach.

“Kiddo wants milk,” Tony quips with a light pat to the top of his belly. “Did you remember to pick up more?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, and turns to the fridge. “Go pee, I’ll make you some chocolate milk.”

Tony hums happily, and wanders off towards the bathroom. Bucky watches him go. Thinks about Steve being here, what he might say. What he’ll probably say. Bucky sighs and shakes his head, dismissing the thoughts in favor of making Tony’s chocolate milk. He’s just putting the milk and syrup away when Tony wanders back in.

“Thank you,” Tony says, and carefully perches on a barstool at the island before dragging the glass over to him. “What was the call-out for? It’s -” he cranes his head back to look at the clock, making a face “- three in the morning, you’re hardly ever out this long.”

Bucky hesitates, and thinks he’s being tested by some higher power. “Someone reported a disturbance at the cemetery, and I found a woman there. She couldn’t remember anything, not even her name.”

“Oh, god, will she be okay?” Tony asks, eyes wide, luminous.

“I think so, yeah,” he replies after another moment, recalling the defiant tilt of Nat’s chin and the way her eyes spark with determination. “I left her with Bruce at the clinic. Gonna go back in the morning to see if she’s remembered anything.”

“You never answered why you’re half-naked,” Tony points out, and sips at his chocolate milk.

“I was gonna put my uniform in the wash,” he mumbles around a yawn, “got all muddy and shit.”

“I can get it for you -”

“Nah, don’t worry about,” Bucky waves a hand at him. “I’ll get it, you need more sleep.”

Tony pouts, and slurps at his chocolate milk. Bucky sticks his tongue out, and finally goes back to pick up his uniform. He takes a second to give it a sniff, and prays Tony won’t notice Steve’s scent as he walks by. He needs to shower, too.

“Don’t forget my last ultrasound appointment is in a couple days,” Tony calls as he passes. “You promised you’d come along.”

“I fully intend to keep my promise,” he replies as he shoves his uniform into the washer. “I promised I’d always be there for you.”

“And the kid.”

“Yes, and the kid,” Bucky agrees, and swallows against the way his stomach is roiling.

* * *

“You said Tony’s bond mark is changing?” Steve hears Bruce saying when he comes back from the bathroom, and he stills, head tilted to get his good ear closer.

“I can’t be sure,” Bucky answers, “but you could check it when at his next appointment.”

“Has he noticed the change?”

“No, no he wouldn’t unless someone points it out,” Bucky replies, and Steve furrows his brow, shuffling closer. “The first time he saw his bond mark after Steve - Well, Tony doesn’t have any mirrors in his house anymore.”

Steve’s stomach drops, and he clenches his jaw. He thinks about what it would be like, to look into the mirror one morning and see the way his bond mark had faded, to look into the mirror and see _another_ reminder that his mate was _gone_. Steve thinks he would have broken every single mirror, himself.

“Steve?” Nat asks from behind him, reaching out to tap his shoulder.

“Hmwha-! Oh, Nat,” Steve squeaks.

“What’re you doing?”

“Nothing!” Steve exclaims, and clears his throat, feeling caught out.

“You looked like you were eavesdropping,” Nat replies, sounding unimpressed.

“I ain't been droppin’ no eaves,” he quotes automatically, before he can stop himself.

“...Right,” Nat snorts, and her lips quirk up a little. “So what did you hear while you weren't droppin’ no eaves?”

Steve flushes and glances back towards the door to Bruce's office. “They were talking about my mate,” he admits, “about his bond mark changing.”

Nat wrinkles her nose a little in thought. “That's weird, isn't it? That it's changing again. I mean I'm no expert, but I feel like they're not supposed to change after your bondmate dies.”

“There've never been any documented cases of a bond mark changing,” he replies, “but I'm not dead anymore, and that's kind of unprecedented on its own, don't you think?”

“Yeah, I guess,” she says with a shrug, then glances around the reception area and all the blankets and couch and chair cushions spread along the floor. “I wanna go to the cemetery. I want to see my grave, since I apparently came back from the dead.”

She returns her gaze to Steve’s, and quirks a brow at him. He frowns, glances from her to Bruce’s office and then back, and sighs. He kind of wants to see his grave, again, too.

“Do you want me to come with you? Because I’m more than willing to,” he says, then glances down at his chest. “Though maybe first we should see if we can find, hm, actual clothes?”

“Don’t like scrubs, do you?”

He gives her a flat look, and plucks at the scrub top. “It looks like I’m an eight year old playing dress up in his dad’s clothes.”

Nat tilts her head, assessing. “Yeah, you really do. How old are you anyway?”

“I’ll be thirty in - uh, well, a year ago I guess? Oh, jeez,” Steve wrinkles his nose and scowls down at his feet, his hands going to his hips. “I missed my thirtieth birthday.”

“You really don’t look it,” Nat offers.

“Thanks,” Steve says flatly. “I know I’m short.”

Nat snorts. “It has nothing to do with your height, dumbo,” she presses her thumb between his eyebrows. “Your face just has that college freshman wide-eyed wonder look about you. You probably got carded every time you walked into a bar.”

“I didn’t go into bars much. Tony’s father was an alcoholic and he was straddling that ledge himself for awhile, before we moved out here. He said it was for my health, which was, admittedly, true, but it was also for him.”

“Do you often overshare with strangers?”

Steve makes a face and shrugs. “Not generally, no, but I just - miss him. Did you have an omega?”

Nat looks away and shrugs. “I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

“Maybe you’ll remember when you see your grave,” he offers.

“Then let’s go.”

Twenty minutes later, Steve thinks maybe he should’ve just stayed at the clinic. Being at the cemetery, looking at his grave, just makes him feel guilty all over again. He glances over to the center of the cemetery, where Nat’s grave is, and thinks that maybe he shouldn’t have brought her here, either.

Nat's expression had shuttered and gone blank when she saw the headstone. There are black smudges that don't leave much to the imagination about the graffiti or what it said. It makes Steve's hackles rise, thinking about someone coming to someone's grave and defacing their headstone just because they, what? Thought this person was promiscuous?

Female alphas have always had it hard, Steve knows that, but jeez.

He wants to say something, maybe offer her some comfort, but Steve's perceptive enough to know Nat won't accept or appreciate it. So instead he moves around to stand behind his headstone. The granite's finish is smooth, and immaculately clean. Someone's been taking pains to keep the poem on the back easily seen.

Grief, and guilt, and anger well up and lodge in Steve's throat, choking him, making tears spring to his eyes. He knows exactly who has been taking care of his headstone. Bucky didn't have to scream it at him for Steve to know what his death did to Tony.

He thinks about Tony standing here, reading Steve's promise to always be there even in death, right there written in stone.

“ _Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there, I did not die,_ ” Nat recites, right behind Steve, startling him out of his thoughts. “That’s creepily prophetic, Rogers.”

Steve manages a strangled laugh and shakes his head. “I was just trying to comfort my omega,” he explains, “just - a reminder that even if I’m dead I’m always with him.”

“That is disgustingly sappy and romantic,” Nat replies, nose wrinkling up, but her green eyes are soft. “Wait, that means you had a say in your headstone?”

“I had it made two years after Tony and I got married,” he says, and shrugs. “I was, ah, kind of constantly getting really sick, and the year I had it made I’d gotten so sick we all thought for sure I wasn’t going to make it. I kept thinking about how Tony would take my death, and I know pretty words engraved into stone isn’t much comfort, but I just. I’ve always liked that poem and the message, and I wanted to give something to Tony that’d remind him that even when I’m gone I’ll always be there with him.”

“ _Sap_ , you are a sap, and a nerd,” Nat replies, and bumps Steve’s shoulder with hers to take the sting from her words. “It’s really sweet. Are you going to go see him?”

“I want to,” Steve admits, heart aching at the thought of holding Tony in his arms, of pressing his face into Tony’s neck, kissing his bond mark, threading his fingers through Tony’s soft, dark hair. “I want to so badly.”

Nat squints at him, her arms crossing over her chest. “Then why don’t you?”

“He has a heart condition,” he explains morosely, “and we don’t know how permanent this whole resurrection thing is. Sudden surprises aren’t exactly good for bad hearts, and the idea of him thinking he’s got me back only to lose me again is - I can’t do that to him.”

“Hmph,” she huffs, and opens her mouth to say something more, but the crunch of tires on gravel cuts her off.

They both crouch down and shuffle backwards, afraid to be seen. Then Steve catches a glimpse of the car and freezes, his heart skipping a beat and taking off at triple time. Nat hisses his name, and grabs the back of his shirt, yanking him back into the bushes lining the edge of the cemetery.

Steve watches as Tony parks. Steve watches as Tony opens his door, and carefully climbs out of the mustang. Steve watches Tony come around the front of the car, and carefully walk over to Steve’s grave.

“Wow, that poor bastard’s about ready to pop,” Nat whispers, and Steve flinches.

“That’s - that’s Tony, that’s my omega,” Steve croaks, raking his eyes over Tony’s body, head to toe, lingering on his swollen abdomen.

Something ugly and dark and jealous settles in Steve’s chest, cold and sharp and deeply painful.

“I think it’s safe to say that baby ain’t yours, unless you froze some sperm,” Nat replies, not unkindly.

 _Tony is in no condition to get a shock like this!_ That’s what Bucky had said to him. He hadn’t meant Tony’s weak heart. Well, he had, but he’d meant Tony’s weak heart combined with _Tony’s pregnancy_.

He watches Tony stop by Steve’s grave - and boy is it lucky someone had taken the time to try to make the graves look undisturbed, and now that Steve thinks about it, it was probably Bucky.

Tony presses his hand to the top of the gravestone, his head bowing and shoulders hunching in. He thinks Tony might be saying something, but he’s too far away to hear and he doesn’t really feel comfortable asking Nat to tell him. Tony’s fingers stroke along the top of the granite, a careful caress that makes Steve ache to feel that against his skin.

A breeze picks up, then, and it blows Tony’s scent straight to him. It’s like being punched in the solar plexus. He wants to cry. Tony’s so _beautiful_ , a shining star in the night, Steve’s guiding light. Steve’s everything.

* * *

Tony wipes his eyes, and presses a hand to his belly when the baby kicks. “Steve,” he whispers, and even after all this time his voice still breaks. He brings his other hand up to wrap his fingers around his wedding ring hanging from the chain around his neck.

“Steve,” he chokes out, again, and closes his eyes. “I keep trying to think of what you’d say, what you’d think, looking at me now. I keep thinking you’d feel betrayed, and hurt, and I wouldn’t even blame you. I love this baby, I do, but it’s always going to remind me of how badly I fucked up.”

He sucks in a shaky breath, trying not to start crying all over again. The baby gives another kick, its tiny little foot pressing into the exact spot his palm is pressed against. He wishes Steve were there, to feel it with him, to look up into his face with those shining, brilliant blue eyes, full of love and joy and awe. He wishes this baby was _Steve’s_.

“I think you’d forgive me, too,” he continues hoarsely. “You always forgave me, even when you shouldn’t have. Even when you were still mad or upset with me, you forgave me. You were so good. Too good, for me. You deserved so much better, Steve, but you picked me.

“And I know that Bucky still beats himself up for it, too,” he continues after a deep breath, “it was never supposed to happen. I love him, of course I do, he’s one of my closest friends, but he’s not my alpha. I’m so grateful that he’s been here for me, he’s been so great to me, Steve, and I think you’d be mad at him for a lot longer than you’d be mad at me, but you’d forgive him in the end, too. _Because_ he’s taken such good care of me. And he’s going to be a great dad. He doesn’t think so, I can tell, but he will be.”

Tony stops fighting the tears threatening to spill over. It’s not worth the energy, in the end. He knows he’s going to cry no matter what he does.

“But, fuck, Steve, _alpha_ , I just want you here, with me, I want your arms around me again,” Tony cries, “I want this baby to be _yours_ . I want this baby to have your fluffy blond hair and beautiful blue eyes and get that goddamned stubborn furrow in its brow and clench its jaw when something frustrates it but it doesn’t want to say. I would give _anything_ for that.”

“Would you like a handkerchief?” Someone asks from behind him, and Tony yelps and jerks around. The alpha behind him smiles a little, and raises her hands, palms up, non-threatening. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It - it’s okay,” Tony gulps, wiping at his face. “I hadn’t realized there was someone else here.”

“Yeah, I was just visiting, um, my older sister’s grave,” she replies, and pulls a handkerchief from her pocket, holding it out to him. “I didn’t want to intrude but you started crying again and I thought that maybe you shouldn’t be alone.”

“Oh, thank you,” he says, and after a moment’s hesitation accepts the handkerchief.

“Are you going to be okay?”

Tony wipes his eyes again, and nearly falls on his ass because the handkerchief smells so overwhelmingly like Steve it _hurts_.

“Hey, hey are you -”

“Yeah, no, no I’m good, thank you,” Tony says, practically tripping over the words. “I’m okay, I’ll be fine, thank you I just - your handkerchief smells like the cologne my alpha favored and I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says, and she looks like she genuinely means that.

“It’s okay, and thank you again,” he manages a smile, and tries to hand the handkerchief back.

She shakes her head. “No, keep it. I’ve got plenty more, I’m not gonna miss it.”

“I - thank you,” he rasps, and clutches it to his chest. He thinks before he’d have been embarrassed by this, but now he doesn’t give a shit. This alpha doesn’t know who he is, and she doesn’t really look like the type to judge an omega for grieving his mate, anyway.

“My name’s Nat,” she offers, “short for Natalie.”

“Tony,” he offers back, and manages a slightly bigger smile. “It’s nice meeting you - uh, well. Kinda awkward circumstances, but still.”

Nat laughs softly. “I know what you mean.”

“Yeah,” he hums, and glances at his watch. “Shit. As nice as meeting you has been, I’ve still got to drop by the pharmacy for my vitamins.”

“You’d better do that, then,” Nat smiles. “It was nice meeting you too, Tony. Maybe we’ll see each other around town. And if we do, hopefully it’ll be under happier circumstances.

Tony smiles at her. “I hope so, too.”

* * *

“They’re back, James,” Bruce calls, and Bucky nearly drops the box of clothes he’d dug out of the upstairs closet.

He books it down the stairs, and skitters to a stop a couple feet away from them, too frustrated to form proper words. He glowers at Nat and Steve, taking in their appearances. Apparently they’d found the clothes all on their own before leaving.

Then he meets Steve’s eyes, and he _knows_.

“So what was it,” Steve says with forced calmness, “did you just forget because, hey! Something fucking weird’s going on here! Or was it just you trying to spare me?”

“I -”

“Don’t _fucking_ lie to me, Buck,” Steve snaps, and Bucky bristles.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” he snaps back, and stalks off to drop the box of clothes on the couch in the reception, ignoring the others’ intrigued looks as he walks by.

Steve follows him, practically vibrating with his anger. “Gee, I dunno, I would think ‘oh by the way Tony’s pregnant’ would’ve sufficed!”

“Yeah, okay,” Bucky growls and spins around to glare at him, “and how would _that_ have gone? It’s not like it could be yours!”

Steve flinches, looking stricken for a moment before the anger is back. “He’s _my mate_ , don’t you think I’d wanna know that he’s pregnant!?”

“You were _dead_ , goddamnit! You were dead for _two years_ and we all know this baby ain’t yours!” Bucky yells, throwing his hands up. “You’re my best friend, and that baby isn’t yours, and how was I supposed to tell my best friend that his omega got pregnant with someone else’s baby!?”

“You can fucking say it,” Steve snarls, baring his teeth, “just fucking _say it, Buck_ ! The baby is _yours!_ ”

Bucky rears back, clenching his jaw and balling his hands into fists, breathing hard. “ _Fine_ ,” he manages, and aches at the way Steve flinches back like the confirmation hurt worse than the suspicion. Bucky thinks maybe it did. He slumps, and looks at his boots.

“The baby _is_ mine,” he continues, wanting to cry. “The baby is mine, and it was _never_ supposed to happen.”

Steve’s clenching his jaw. Bucky _knows_ he is. He can hear Steve’s teeth grinding. He waits for the storm.

“Come on, guys, let’s give them some privacy,” Bruce says, then, and all at once Bucky remembers they have an audience. He flushes and looks up, meeting their eyes as they all file by, refusing to let them make him feel ashamed.

The only person allowed to is Steve, as far as he’s concerned.

“ _Why_ ?” Steve asks, finally, when they’re alone, hoarse, like he’s been crying. “ _How_?”

Bucky inhales, holds it for three beats, and exhales. “We - we were drunk. It was your wedding anniversary, and he still - Tony still wasn’t doing that well. By that point he’d already insisted Rhodey and Pepper get on with their lives. He couldn’t chase _me_ off, because I live here, but.”

“So, you, what? Got drunk and thought ‘oh, let’s fuck!’?” Steve demands, voice snapping and harsh.

“ _No_ ,” Bucky bites out, and sighs. “No, that - Tony’s heats had been fucked since your death. He’d just come off of one a few days before that -”

“You _fucked my mate_ through his _heat_?” Steve snarls, and Christ, Bucky had been expecting that, but he hadn’t been expecting the fist to his sternum. Steve keeps his knuckles pressed there, shoulders heaving, his gaze locked on Bucky’s throat.

“It surprised us,” Bucky croaks, and there are tears burning his eyes. He blinks, and feels them track down his cheeks. “Neither of us were expecting it to hit. He’d just - Tony’d just finished one a week or so before that. And we were drunk, Stevie, and then we were _heat drunk_ , and when we woke up three days later Tony kicked me out of the house and I was _so scared_ that he was going to hurt himself!”

Steve whimpers, and his face crumples.

“He wouldn't talk to me for three weeks, wouldn't let me in, and I didn't use the spare key to get in. I asked Clint and Sharon to check in on him. They thought we'd just gotten into a big fight, they had no idea what was wrong. Neither of them beat the fuck out of me, at least, so I assumed they didn't know. I didn't say, and I don't think Tony did either.

“And,” Bucky continues, and he's crying now too, “and then I got a call from Tony. He said he'd gone to his doctor, and his doctor assured him it was just a false heat, that the majority of his heats thus far, after you died, had been false heats. Just - just extra torture for an omega who'd lost his alpha.”

Steve makes a wounded noise, and Bucky wants to hug him but he's pretty sure Steve'd just punch him in the face.

“Is - is that _normal_?” Steve croaks, after three tries.

Bucky shrugs. “Apparently. I dunno. Something about gearing up for when the Omega finds a new alpha. I don't know.”

“But - if, if that was a false heat -?”

“It, it's what the doctor told Tony,” Bucky says, “but it wasn't. It, Tony was ready to put it behind him, and he let me in, again, and it was alright, and it - it seemed like his heat cycles were maybe starting to regulate again. Then he started showing, and, and one day some alpha made a comment about loving the scent of a pregnant omega, and Tony couldn't hide it anymore.”

“He -”

“He asked me,” Bucky continues, cutting Steve off because he needs to say it, needs to tell _somebody_ , and this is _Steve_ and no matter what Steve will never stop loving Tony, never stop being there for him. “He asked me if I thought he'd betrayed you, and I didn't know yet that he was pregnant. I'd been investigating some missing cattle and I hadn't actually seen him in person in a few days, but I'd told him that, that he could _never_ betray you, that it wasn't in him, and he broke down and sobbed and told me that he was pregnant, and all I could think about was that New Year's you told me you and Tony were finally ready to try, and how fucking happy you'd both be to announce a pregnancy, but instead Tony was sobbing and feeling like he'd betrayed a dead man.”

Steve trembles, and sucks in a wet breath, and sags until his forehead pressed against Bucky's shoulder, and he cries.

They both do. Until they can't cry anymore.

* * *

“We have your prenatals ready, Mr. Rogers,” the pharmacist calls as Tony walks into view.

“Thank you, Darcy,” Tony says, and makes a beeline for the pharmacy counter, carefully avoiding walking into an older gentleman meticulously inspecting a row of cough drops and accidentally bumping into a display stand for vitamin gummies for his troubles. Bottles drop all over the floor, and Tony winces at the racket, hunching his shoulders against the disapproving glares from nearby customers. “Sorry, sorry.”

“Aw, it’s alright, Mr. Rogers,” Darcy assures him, scurrying around the counter and stooping down to pick up the bottles before Tony can so much as straighten the display stand back up. He moves to help, but Darcy’s glare freezes him in his tracks. “Don’t worry about this.”

Tony makes a face, and turns back to the display stand, making sure it’s steady before straightening up the few bottles that hadn’t fallen. “I’m pregnant, not helpless,” he grumbles, and Darcy chuckles softly.

“I never said you were helpless, Mr. Rogers,” she says as she starts picking up the bottles and putting them on the stand, “but you _are_ pregnant. _Very_ pregnant. What would Bucky say if I called him and told him I let his _very pregnant best friend_ fall on his ass picking up vitamin bottles?”

“Probably that I deserved to fall on my ass because I should be at home in bed and he was going to pick my prescription up for me before coming home,” Tony answers, and gives Darcy a little smirk when she narrows her eyes at him.

“Are you on bed rest?”

“Eh,” Tony shrugs, “not technically. I’m just supposed to be taking it easy, because of my heart. I was supposed to be getting a pacemaker,” he continues, ruefully, “but I found out I was pregnant and my doctor decided we’d wait for that until after I have the baby.”

“Bucky would be right,” Darcy sniffs and finishes putting the last of the vitamin bottles back on the stand.

Tony pouts, and Darcy smiles. “I’m going stir crazy at home,” he mumbles.

Darcy pats his arm sympathetically before heading back for the pharmacy counter. Tony follows after her, leaning against the counter as he watches Darcy go find his prescription. He likes Darcy. She’s been the pharmacist here since Steve and Tony moved to this sleepy little town, and they’d developed a fun raport when he would come for Steve’s medications. Darcy’s one of the few people in town who didn’t judge Tony, when he started showing, outside of his small circle of friends, and she’s the only person who hasn’t asked who the sire was. It’s likely because rumors fly and everyone knew the only alpha Tony’d had any contact with at the time was Bucky, but he still appreciates her discretion.

Plus, Darcy fearlessly calls him Mr. Rogers, even though the first time she’d done it after Steve died he’d cried all over her for a half hour. Everyone else had been too afraid to. Tony’s pretty sure everyone else is _still_ too afraid to. Which he thinks is fair, really. He still gets teary-eyed about it, and nobody wants an omega crying all over them.

“Here you are, Mr. Rogers,” Darcy says, holding out the little paper bag with his prescription. “Now you better go home and rest up, okay? I don’t want Bucky coming in here frowning at me because you went and exhausted yourself.”

Tony chuckles a little and takes the bag. “His disappointed frown does have quite the impact,” he agrees, and gives her a little wave before walking out of the pharmacy.

“An unbonded and pregnant omega, Stark. _Damn_ you're lucky Barnes would go to prison for you,” Deputy Rumlow calls with a whistle, leaning against his police issue jeep where it's parked beside Tony's car.

He sure as fuck wasn't there when Tony went into the pharmacy, and Tony clenches his jaw as he walks by Brock. The alpha reeks of interest, and arrogance, and very little of his mate. His mate that Tony knows about only because Bucky mentioned meeting her once at a fundraiser.

“Good afternoon, Deputy,” Tony greets stiffly as he opens his car door, “I'm surprised to see you in our little hole in the wall.”

Rumlow smirks and pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his breast pocket, tapping one out to stick in his mouth. “What can I say?” He asks around it, lifting his hands to light the end before continuing, “I heard about Barnes calling for non-emergency medical and wanted to make sure everything was alright, seeing as your town's lone ambulance was off in another town. Seems like everything is going fine, so I figured I'd pay you a visit before leaving.”

Tony narrows his eyes at him. “Whatever will you do when I'm not pregnant anymore and you can't come get your rocks off sniffing me?”

“Eh, I'm sure you and Barnes'll fuck again. You went through heats with a partner for years. You're not gonna wanna go through them without someone, now that you're unbonded. That's kind of obvious,” he adds, letting his eyes run up and down Tony's body, lingering on Tony's stomach.

“Oh fuck you, Brock,” Tony growls. “And I'm _not_ unbonded, asshole, I'm _widowed_. There's a difference and you know it.”

“To-may-to, to-mah-to,” he replies, and, somehow, has the decency to blow his smoke upwards instead of directly at Tony.

Tony shakes his head, mostly at himself for even talking to Rumlow, and gets in his car. Brock just smiles at him, eyes dark and heated as he watches Tony, and Tony suppresses a disgusted shudder. If he thought it wouldn't end with Bucky in jail, he'd say something to him about Brock Rumlow and his creep factor being through the roof.

But it would _absolutely_ end with Bucky in jail. Or prison. Neither of those are a very good place for Bucky to be when Tony's about to have his baby.

* * *

“I really think you should tell Tony,” Bruce says later that day, and Steve wants to throw his arms around the man in thanks, because, god, he wants to be able to hold Tony in his arms again.

“Bruce,” Bucky sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Bruce what if something happens? What if this won't last and Steve just dies again? I can't put Tony through that.”

“You don't know something will happen anymore than I do,” Bruce counters, “and from all the tests I've run here, Steve, and the others, are as fit as a fiddle. Hell, it doesn't really look like Steve has asthma anymore. Or at least, not as severely as he did before.”

Steve blinks, and thinks back over the last day or so, and realizes Bruce is right. He'd _ran_ from the graveyard the night before and hadn't had an asthma attack when by all rights he should've collapsed thirty seconds after he'd started running. And, come to think of it, he's been hearing a bit better than he remembers. Not as well as what he's been told is average, but just well enough to notice, when he thinks about.

He wonders what else might have changed, might have improved, health wise. He's definitely still color blind. He'd have noticed _that_ immediately if he wasn't anymore.

“I really think you shouldn’t be making decisions for Tony, James,” Bruce says firmly, pulling Steve from his musing. “He won’t forgive you. Not easily, anyway.”

“He’s right,” Steve says, and Bucky turns his frustrated glare on him but Steve refuses to be cowed this time. “We can’t make decisions for Tony, regardless of our intentions. It’s not right, it’s not fair, and if Tony ever finds out from someone else he’ll never trust you again.” _Or me_ , he doesn’t add.

 _Or he’ll think that I decided I didn’t want him anymore_ , he thinks immediately after, and that thought hurts.

Bucky straightens his shoulders, his jaw clenching, then in the next second he sags, letting his head drop down. He sighs, deeply, and Steve knows Bucky’s conceded. Steve doesn’t know how to tell Bucky just how much he appreciates how concerned Bucky is for Tony.

Rather, he does, but he doesn’t know if he can keep the jealousy from showing as he does it. Because he _is_ sincerely grateful that Bucky’s been there for Tony, that Bucky’s just trying to protect Tony. Steve remembers worrying about Tony as he lay in that hospital bed. He remembers worrying about Tony every time he was in a hospital bed.

It’s just that he can’t help but wonder if Bucky’s concern comes from more than just friendship and some sense of loyalty to Steve. And Steve wouldn’t even blame Bucky, if he’d developed feelings for Tony. He really, really wouldn’t.

It’s hard not to love Tony.

“We should do it here, where you can be here with medical equipment, just in case,” Bucky finally mutters, looking back up at Bruce. “And I’m bringing Lovelace. Tony’ll want her here, if only to ground himself.”

“Lovelace?” Steve asks, brow furrowed.

Bucky glances at him, and grimaces guiltily at him. “Right, you wouldn’t know. Lovelace is Tony’s cat. Emotional support animal. I got her for him shortly after - well, after. I thought it’d help him. At least in ways we couldn’t help, anyway.”

Steve smiles sadly, thinking about Tony cuddling a cat. “Tony always did want a cat. We just never got around to seeing if I could be around them. I think maybe he was afraid that I couldn’t, so if we never found out for sure he could just pretend like one day he’d get to have a cat.”

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs, then gives Steve a quick once over. “Doc, is there any way to test for that now? The last thing we need is Steve going into anaphylactic shock because he was in the same room as Lovelace.”

“Short of bringing Steve a cat and seeing what happens, not currently,” Bruce says, sounding apologetic. “I haven’t had to do an allergen test in a while, and the wait time for the tests is, ah, rather long. A few weeks, at least.”

They both grimace, and Bruce makes another apologetic noise that Steve waves away.

“Just bring me a cat and we’ll hope I won’t need an epipen,” Steve says.

“Steve!” Bucky protests, and Steve scowls at him.

“If we wait _weeks_ Tony will never forgive either of us,” Steve snaps.

“Tony wants his alpha back,” Nat speaks up, and Steve jumps. He hadn’t even realized she was there. “I can’t imagine how hard it must be for him, emotionally, being pregnant and not having his alpha.”

Bucky pales, and he looks away, arms crossing over his chest and jaw clenching up again. Steve wants to clap a hand to his shoulder, give it a comforting squeeze. He doesn’t think there’s anything he could do to make Bucky feel better, at this point.

“It’s all well and good that you’re there,” Nat continues, unrepentant, her green eyes fierce as she moves closer, “but you didn’t bond with him when you two fucked. He’s a widowed, alpha-less, pregnant omega. Even if he’s independent and strong-willed, his instincts are probably going absolutely mad. Have you even talked to him about it? How he’s feeling?”

Bucky’s jaw works, a muscle twitching in his cheek, and Steve recognizes that look, he does. He steps between them, and smiles at Nat, because he appreciates her coming to his defense, really, but this is going to escalate quickly if he doesn’t stop it now. Nat takes a step back, and looks a little surprised that she’d gotten so close to Bucky.

“He feels like he’s betrayed Steve,” Bucky grinds out, and Steve flinches. “Listen, I’m more’n _fuckin’ aware_ that Tony wants his alpha back,” and Jesus, there’s a desperate snarl to his voice that makes Steve ache.

“Buck -”

“He couldn’t sleep alone for _months_ after Steve’s death,” Bucky continues over him, low and mournful, “and it killed me that I couldn’t make it better for him. I moved in with him, I sleep next to him every fuckin’ night, and he thrashes in his sleep, and he calls for Steve, at first every night. Now it’s down to only a couple nights a week.

“I don’t want to keep them apart, I wanna give Tony everything to make him happy! If I could’ve I’d have given him Steve back in a fucking _heartbeat_ , and now Steve’s here, and we don’t know how long for, if it’s permanent or if he’ll keel over or some shit, and I _know_ Tony wouldn’t survive Steve’s death a second time!”

Steve’s got his hands pressed to Bucky’s chest, holding him back, keeping him from doing something _stupid_. He can feel Bucky’s heart hammering against his hands, and he can feel the way Bucky’s entire body is trembling. He keeps his eyes trained on Bucky’s pulse point, even though he desperately wants to look up, wants to see what it is exactly in Bucky’s eyes, but he can’t bring himself to.

“And even though my instincts are _screaming_ not to let it happen, I’m going to bring Tony here, and hope and pray that he won’t lose Steve a second time,” Bucky continues, voice wobbling its way into a hoarse whisper. His hands found their way up to wrap around Steve’s wrists as he spoke, and he clings to Steve, tight. “Hope and pray that _we_ don’t lose Steve.”

He’s met with silence, afterwards. Steve stares up at him, wide-eyed, and completely unsure what to say. What to think. What to _feel_ , because that - that sounded an awful lot like - but it couldn’t possibly be.

“Welp!” Peter exclaims, clapping his hands together. “I absolutely picked the wrong moment to come tell you guys I made dinner! So I’m just gonna! Go hide somewhere bye!”

Bucky finally meets Steve’s eyes, and they’re stormy, and wet, and bright with dozens of emotions Steve can’t even _begin_ to parse. He gives Steve a rueful smile, drops his hands, and steps away. “I’ll go see if I can sneak Lovelace over here, to see if you’re allergic to her. Go eat, it smells good.”

“Buck -”

“Don’t look so shocked, punk,” Bucky jokes, but his voice is too choked up to be effective. “I missed you too, you know.”

With that, Bucky ducks out of the clinic, leaving Steve staring after him.

Nat comes up beside him, and pats his shoulder consolingly. “I thought it’d take longer, honestly,” she says thoughtfully, “but then again, maybe he’s been thinking about second chances and not wasting them. That’s what I’d be thinking about, if I were in his shoes.”

“What?” Steve manages to croak out, confused.

“I don’t know how it is now, but when I was growing up it wasn’t that uncommon for there to be triads, you know. I definitely remember that,” she says, as if that explains anything. As if it explains everything.

“What?” Steve repeats, weakly, and Nat sighs, shaking her head. She loops her arm through his and leads him off towards the back exit where they’d set up a picnic table the night before without saying anything else.

* * *

“Bucky?” Tony calls out a second after Bucky comes into the house, and he winces.

He’d been hoping to just sneak in and nab Lovelace up without Tony noticing.

Tony wanders into the living room, and narrows his eyes at Bucky when he gets a good look at him. Bucky fidgets under his stare, and looks towards the little dining table tucked against the windows at the otherside of the room. He knows he can’t really fool Tony - Tony knows him too well, really - but he wants to pretend for a moment.

“Bucks, what’s wrong?”

“It’s - nothing, nothing’s wrong,” Bucky says, and his voice cracks, and he breaks, lets his head fall forward, pressing his hands over his face as his shoulders shake. Tony makes an alarmed sound, and a moment later he wraps himself around Bucky’s back.

“Bucks, hey, come on, what’s wrong?” Tony murmurs, and when Bucky just hiccups he presses his face against Bucky’s neck.

Bucky couldn’t keep the wounded noise from escaping even if he’d wanted to, and he twists around in Tony’s arms to clutch him to his chest. Tony makes a soft, startled sound, but settles against him, pressing his nose into Bucky’s neck while Bucky sobs all over him.

It only occurs to Bucky when he’s cried himself out - _again_ \- that this was an ill-advised move. Tony inhales, deep, probably to scent him, to make sure he’s not hurt or something, and goes absolutely rigid in Bucky’s arms.

At first Bucky doesn’t understand why, not until Tony pushes Bucky away, his eyes wide and wet and so lost.

“You -” Tony whimpers, and Bucky feels like he’s been doused in a bucket of ice water.

“Shit,” he whispers, and reaches for Tony, who flinches away from him, nearly falling on his ass in his haste to get away. “Tony, hey, hey no, careful, sweetheart,” he says, and pulls his hands away.

“What - what’s going on,” Tony whines, a high, desperate plea, and Bucky feels like the shittiest person in the _universe_.

“Tony,” he says, and licks his lips, suddenly lost, the words dying somewhere in the back of his throat as he watches tears well up and spill over in Tony’s eyes.

“I thought,” Tony starts, his voice little more than a cracked whisper, “I’d smelled, earlier, at the - at the graveyard, an alpha, she gave me a handkerchief to blow my nose and wipe my face off with and I thought I’d smelled him then, on it. It was faint, but it was _there_ , but that doesn’t make any sense, does it? But now it’s on you, and it’s stronger, like you’ve been rolling around in his things, like you’d been holding him or sleeping in his bed with him, the - the way _I_ used to smell and I. I - none, James, nothing makes any fucking _sense_ , I don’t understand -”

An ache - it’s not a new ache, not by a long shot, no matter how much he tries to pretend otherwise - pulses behind his sternum, spreads through him until all Bucky wants to do is curl up, hidden away, and lick at his wounds like an injured dog. It’s an urge he’s never allowed himself the luxury of indulging, because Steve was his best friend, his - his _dearest friend_ , and his loss hurt deeper than Bucky’d ever known it could, but he’d look at Tony, he’d look at _Steve’s mate_ , and see the way he held himself strong and stoic and Bucky knows it’s just a mask, that deep inside Tony’s still crumbling, still falling apart but. But Bucky’d look at him, and wonder how he could even consider hiding himself away from the world and everyone he cared about when Tony’s standing there without his mate, when Tony hasn’t let himself crumble and crawl away, hasn’t let himself hide away buried in his grief.

“Tony, please,” he croaks, and reaches out again, though he’s no closer than he’d been a minute ago, afraid to see Tony flinch away from him once more, too cowardly to risk that, the way it cuts deep. “Please, sit down before you fall and hurt yourself. Please, I’ll explain, or, well, I’ll try my best to explain? I don’t… I don’t know how to explain it. I don’t know that you’ll even believe me.”

“ _Try_ ,” Tony rasps, but obliges Bucky, takes a few stumbling steps until he can sit on the sofa, shaking like a leaf the second he’s no longer on his feet.

Lovelace darts over to him, then, and jumps up onto the couch, crawling into Tony’s lap. Bucky’s not even sure where it was she’d come from, but he’s glad she’s here, nuzzling against Tony’s belly, meowing soft little mews that has Tony stroking her with both hands. He watches them, and feels glad all over again that he’d gotten her for Tony.

“Do you remember the other night,” Bucky begins, after Tony’s stopped trembling like he’ll shatter at the slightest touch. “I came home late, there was a disturbance at the cemetery? I told you I found a woman, that she couldn’t remember anything, not even her name.”

“Yes,” Tony says slowly, frowning. “I called you because we were out of milk and I asked you to pick up more on your way home. What does that have to do with _this_ , James?”

Bucky tries not to wince, paces the floor. “She wasn’t the only person there. There were four others. They were all covered in mud, and all of them were scared and confused and completely unable to remember how they’d gotten there or who they were or what had happened to them. Dr. Banner’d shown up when I called for non-emergency medical help, and together we got them all to the clinic. I guess the doc found the fourth while I was busy with the other two that’d popped up.

“I hadn’t realized at first, even after we got to the clinic. I was passing out clean clothes for them to put on once they’d washed up, but then this voice - this voice goes ‘why do you look familiar?’ and I recognized the voice, but it, I didn’t, I _couldn’t_ believe what I was hearing. It was _impossible_ , but I turned, and there he was, standing there. Just. Standing there.”

“What - what do you - what are you even saying?” he croaks, and trembles, pressing his hands to his belly.

Bucky watches him, guilt welling up again. “We - we don’t know how but five - six, I think, but we don’t know where he is, anyway - there - there are five people who clawed their way out of their graves.”

Tony jerks like he’s been slapped. “ _What_?”

“Steve,” Bucky licks his lips and forces himself to meet Tony’s eyes, “he’s...alive.”

* * *

He’d debated for a long time about putting the teddy bear in the nursery, but now, in this moment, he’s grateful it’s not packed away. It’s nearly a decade old, and it shows, but when Tony presses himself into the thing’s body it feels just like he remembers when Steve had won it for him and shoved it into his arms on their first date. It’d been too big for Tony to properly see around, as big as Tony practically, but he’d been able to hear the pleased rumble Steve gave. Steve’d been so _proud_ , winning the grand prize for Tony.

When Tony’d finally been able to see the beaming smile on Steve’s face, well, that’s when he _knew_ Steve was it for him.

“Not like Steve’ll give a damn if he _is_ allergic to the fucking cat,” Bucky’s voice carries into the nursery. He sounds strained and ready to burst into tears again, and there’s a part of Tony that wants to go to Bucky and comfort him.

There’s a larger part that wants to snarl and snap until Bucky’s stopped playing this cruel fucking trick on him.

 _It’s not a trick, though, is it?_ Tony thinks, remembering Steve’s scent all over Bucky. _Bucky would_ never _be that cruel to me, to anyone at all._

Bucky’s voice grows quiet and muffled, and Tony figures he’s walked away from the nursery. He sniffles, and nuzzles into the teddy bear’s fur, trying to ignore the sting in his palm. Above all else, Tony can’t believe he’d _slapped_ Bucky.

“There’s some cruel twist of irony here somewhere,” Tony mumbles.

 _“What kind of sick_ joke _do you think you’re playing with me? I was at his grave a couple hours ago! There wasn’t a great big gaping hole there or anywhere else!” Tony shrieks, tears burning his eyes. Bucky flinches and finally looks away._

 _“I went back to make the graves look like they hadn’t been disturbed,” he admits. He looks hurt, hell, he_ sounds _it. Tony’s too angry and upset to really care._

 _“I can’t believe - why are you doing this to me, James? I don’t_ understand _!”_

_“Tony, sweetheart, please,” Bucky pleads, “this is why, you’re getting worked up -”_

_“Of course I’m getting worked up!” Tony screams, “Why the fuck_ wouldn’t _I be getting worked up?!”_

_“I know, I know that, I understand, but you’ve got to calm down, honey, the baby -”_

_Tony doesn’t realize what he’s done until his hand is outstretched, arm across his body and Bucky’s head turned away, his skin stinging and his ears ringing. He swallows, and takes a stumbling step back, confused as to when he’d stood up in the first place, before turning and carefully walking away, into the nursery._

“I ought to apologize,” he whispers, and shifts enough to glance down at his belly. The guilt and grief and anger swirl like a storm in his chest, calling up fresh tears. He turns his face back into the bear, and lets the tears fall.

He drifts, mind conjuring up memories that add to the overwhelming ache building behind his heart. He swears he can smell Steve still on this damn bear, imbedded deep in the fur and stuffing, and Tony feels like maybe he’s finally lost it. Maybe he’s imagined everything up to this point, maybe he’s still lying in bed wrapped in sheets that still smell like Steve because they’d held him just twelve hours ago.

The memories twist and swirl and coalesce, bright sharp jagged things, and maybe Tony wished it was all just one terrible, prolonged nightmare but he knows that even _his_ subconscious couldn’t come up with something like this. He couldn’t fathom life without Steve. Not when Steve dropped him off at home after their first date, not when Steve proposed, not when they bonded on their wedding night, not when Tony got the call, and _certainly_ not now.

He’d never fathomed it, but he had to live it, had _survived it_ , and he still wants to know: _at what cost_?

There are tires on the gravel.

Tony presses his face harder into the bear.

The front door opens, and then voices, loud but not loud enough to make out any words. A car door slamming shut. Angry shouting.

Tony clenches his eyes shut. “You are my s-sunshine, my - my only sunshine,” he sings shakily, his voice breaking, trying to drown it all out, “you make m-me happy, when skies are grey. You don’t know de-dear, how much I lo-love you. Please - please don’t t-take my sun-sunshine away.”

The shouting stops, abruptly, and then the front door bangs open. Footsteps pounding on the wood floors, across the living room to the nursery. Hysteria burbles and bubbles, trying to force a laugh up his throat that Tony chokes right back down.

_“Steve! Careful, you’ll put a hole in the wall!”_

_“But sweetheart I can smell you from the road, how’m I s’pposed to control myself when you smell so good?”_

“Oh, oh _sunflower_ ,” a voice says, cracks, familiar in every way Tony never thought he’d get to hear again.

He presses his face harder into the teddy bear. He doesn’t want to look. He _can’t_ look. He can’t turn around and have Steve not be there, he just can’t.

“This was the absolute last way you were supposed to find out, baby, I was supposed to be here for that,” Steve says, and his hand, warm and thin and strong and delicate, presses carefully against Tony’s spine, right between his shoulder blades the way Steve always did when Tony was upset. Strokes up his spine, then down, and then back up, palm curving to the nape of Tony’s neck. “I’m so sorry, my love, I’m so so sorry.”

Tony trembles, and sucks in a shuddering, wet breath. He can _smell_ him, and that’s Steve’s voice, right there beside him, and the heat of him, the feel of his rough hand warm along Tony’s spine. There’s so much evidence proving that Steve is _there_ , but Tony’s terrified. He’s absolutely terrified to turn around.

He would never survive if he turns and it’s not Steve there beside him.

“Sunflower,” Steve whispers, sad, _pained_ , and uncurls his hand from around the nape of Tony’s neck to tangle his fingers in Tony's hair. “Sunflower, please, may I see your pretty brown eyes?”

“M’scared,” he rasps in response, and his voice cracks, like he’s been screaming. Maybe he had been? “M’scared to turn around and see that you’re not there, sunshine.”

Steve makes a soft, wounded noise, and finally, _finally_ , presses his face into the crook of Tony’s neck, molding himself to Tony’s back and wrapping his arms around Tony as best he can. “Babydoll, I’m so sorry, I’m _so sorry_ ,” he croaks, nosing at the spot where his bond mark had faded, pale the way Steve was in that fucking coffin. He sounds close to tears, and it’s that that makes Tony twist around in Steve’s arms. “C’mere sunflower, I’ve got you, I’m never letting you go again, I swear it, I swear to you. I’m so _sorry_ , I never meant to -”

“ _Steve_ ,” Tony whines, and finally lets himself open his eyes, meeting Steve’s gaze. He cuts Steve’s words off, presses up and kisses him desperately, whimpering when Steve growls and takes command of the kiss the way Tony remembers. “ _Alpha_.”

“M’here,” Steve answers, mumbling against Tony’s lips like he can’t bear to pull away. “M’here sunflower, m’here an’ I’m not goin’ anywhere. I’ve gotcha.” He finally pulls away, but only far enough to duck his head down, and then there are lips brushing along Tony’s throat, mouthing at Tony’s bond mark, teeth worrying the skin. “I love you, I’m so sorry, m’never gonna leave you alone again.”

Tony hiccups, clinging to Steve as he cries and shakes, falling apart in Steve’s arms, tilting his head to the side to give Steve more room.

Floorboards creaking brings everything crashing back down, and suddenly Tony _remembers_ , and he tenses. Steve stills, and after another moment he pulls back to study Tony’s face, his expression cracking when he sees whatever it is in Tony’s own expression. Fear, probably. Guilt. Self-hatred.

But Bucky is in the living room, and Steve is alive, and Tony is - he’s pregnant with _Bucky’s child_ . He was just visiting Steve’s grave _that morning_ , and he’d been crying and wondering what Steve would think and it was safe then because Steve had been _dead_ and there was nothing that could change that and Tony could live on pretending like Steve would forgive him and -

“Sunflower, shhh, stop,” Steve murmurs, brushes his thumb across Tony’s bottom lip as he cups Tony’s face between his hands, “whatever thoughts you got tumbling around that big beautiful brain of yours can just simmer down for a second, yeah? Talk to me, sweetheart, and we’ll get it all sorted.”

Tony trembles, _crumples_ , and Steve, glorious, wonderful Steve, pulls Tony into him, lets him bury his face in the crook of his neck and sob. He wraps his arms around Tony, and hums the song they danced to at their wedding, rocking Tony as he does. Shame and guilt and fear cling like cobwebs to the edges of Tony’s mind, but in this moment, _in Steve’s arms_ , he can ignore it.

* * *

Bucky makes coffee - the second pot since Bruce dropped Steve off - and watches as the carafe fills up, listening to the burbling of it as the water heats and percolates. He’d paced the living room, at first, but eventually he’d shut the door - _they’re in the nursery!_ his brain shrieks - and gone to the kitchen. He’d paced the length of the kitchen, too, before finally starting a pot of coffee.

He probably shouldn’t have downed that first pot like he had, but he figures it’s a better alternative to having a proper nervous breakdown. Or something.

Bruce had left almost immediately, staying only long enough to ensure that Bucky knew how to use an epipen in case Steve _was_ allergic to cats, and really, Bucky doesn’t blame him. Doc Banner, Bucky’s noticed, never seemed all that comfortable with interpersonal relationships, and he’d looked especially awkward and uncertain as he was discussing the epipen with Bucky. He imagines Steve’s scent, concentrated in Bruce’s little car, had been more than Bruce wanted to handle. Bruce certainly hadn’t signed on to be part of this awkward little drama-fest.

Not that there’s any reason for dramatics.

Bucky’s known his place in their lives since Steve introduced them and then later that same night informed Bucky that he was going to marry that omega if it was the last thing he did. They’d been, if Bucky remembers correctly, on a half dozen dates by that point, but Bucky’d never doubted Steve for a second. He’d been able to see how gone on Steve Tony was, and that’s all that’s ever really mattered to him.

First Steve’s happiness, and later, Tony’s too. Nothing else. Just them. _Always_.

Floorboards creaking pull Bucky from his thoughts, and he straightens up, turning towards the half wall separating the kitchen and living room to see Steve standing in the doorway to the nursery. His eyes are red, his face blotchy like he’d been crying right along with Tony, and he offers Bucky a tired, pained smile that looks more like a grimace. Bucky swallows, forcibly keeping still, and pushes his riotous emotions back into the box.

“Tony fell asleep maybe five minutes ago,” Steve murmurs, “I wanted to get him some water.”

“Yeah,” Bucky clears his throat, and blinks. He turns to the fridge to pull out the pitcher of water. When he turns back, pitcher in hand, Steve’s standing in the middle of the living room, spinning slowly as he takes in what changed, what stayed the same.

There are pictures of Steve everywhere, of Steve and Tony, and of Steve and Bucky, and of all three of them. Just the way they were when Steve was alive - before Steve’s dirt nap. He carefully sets the pitcher on the island counter with a small shake of his head, and watches Steve, wondering what he’s thinking.

“First hurdle over with,” Steve says, after another slow spin, then finally turns back to Bucky. “Probably not the worst, though.”

Bucky smiles ruefully. “No, definitely not.”

He pours a glass of water, and nudges it across the counter at Steve.

“Do you think you could carry Tony to his - to your - the bed?” he asks, and swallows, closing his eyes, looking pained. “He shouldn’t sleep curled up on that chaise like that, and I’m -”

 _Not strong enough to carry him_ , Bucky finishes in his head, and winces against the guilt that wells up. It’s silly, he knows it is. Even if Tony weren’t pregnant Steve wouldn’t have been able to carry Tony. Not by himself, anyway. Steve’d grumbled about it to Bucky enough, in his own throes of feeling insecure and inadequate, back in the beginning.

“Yeah, of course,” Bucky manages. “But you’d better lay down with him when I get him there. He wakes up without you, I don’t think he’ll react very well to it.”

Steve winces, and frowns down at the floor. “I -”

“Steve, whatever it is you’re thinking, don’t. _You’re_ the only person Tony’s ever wanted to wake up in the arms of,” Bucky cuts in, walking out into the living room. He grabs Steve’s hand and shoves the glass of water into it. “I’ve only ever been a stopgap for him. He’s one of my best friends, and I love him, but I’m not _you_. So stop acting like you’re stepping on my toes or whatever it is going through that thick skull and go get in the goddamn bed, make it smell of you, and I’m going to carry Tony into that room and set him on that bed and you are going to curl around him the way you always do.”

Carrying Tony isn’t quite as easy as it was a year ago, and in the back of his head a small part of him hisses that it’s definitely not because Tony’s pregnant.

Tony hardly stirs - he’d completely worn himself out, crying - and curls right into Steve’s arms as soon as Bucky lays him down on the bed and Steve shifts into Tony’s space. He gives a small nod, and leaves before Steve can say anything. Lovelace watches him from her perch at the top of the cat tree Tony’d built.

“ _You_ are a troublemaker and you don’t even know it,” he mutters.

His phone rings, then, and Bucky sighs as he digs it out of his pocket to answer.

“So I got a call about a confused naked person wandering around the reservoir,” Clint says as soon as the call connects, and Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’d go scoop them up and dump 'em in holding until they’re sobered up, but uh, our regular guest is already made himself at home.”

“I’ll take care of it,” he says. Hopefully, he thinks as he scribbles out a note for Steve and Tony, this is their missing risen and not some drunk who felt like skinny dipping in the reservoir.

Fifteen minutes later he’s at the reservoir, just in time to watch a beta walk naked out of the water. He sighs, and slips out of the jeep. The beta stills, and carefully shifts into a defensive stance, eyes flashing in warning. They look scared, but ready to defend themself.

“You haven’t got any clothes, I’m betting,” Bucky says amiably, glancing over to the thicket of trees, the red and orange and yellow leaves rustling in the light breeze. “I’m also betting the water’s cold as ice, and you’d probably appreciate a blanket and a nice warm place to dry off. I’ve got those, if you’re willing to bundle up and sit in my jeep?”

The beta squints suspiciously, shivers at another gust of wind, and gives a short nod. Bucky sends them a small smile, and gets into the backseat for the shock blanket he keeps there. When he turns around, the beta is directly behind him.

“Cop,” the beta grunts, and frowns.

“Yes,” Bucky agrees, drawing the word out. “Can you tell me your name?”

The beta’s frown deepens.

“I’ll take that as a no, then,” he sighs, and holds out the blanket. “Cover up and climb on into the jeep. Did you happen to wake up in a cemetery the other night?”

“I...don’t know,” the beta replies, slowly. “I can’t remember.”

Bucky hums and gets into the jeep, watching the beta as they move around the front of the car and opens the passenger door. “We’ll go to see Doc Banner,” he decides, “make sure you don’t have any brain trauma.”

* * *

Steve doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but he’s in his bed with his _mate in his arms_ . It’s warm and Tony feels perfect, and _sure_ , it’s a little strange, Tony feels a bit different, but still _perfect_ . How could he feel anything _but_ perfect? Tony is warm and alive and he smells like Steve’s - and, and a little like Bucky, too, of course, but it doesn’t bother him.

He thought, maybe, it would, when he’d first found out, but - well, it’s _Bucky_ , and while he’s not - well, he can admit it in the privacy of his thoughts, he does love him. His favorite people. The people most important to him. Steve should’ve known it truly wouldn’t bother him, that Tony’s carrying Bucky’s child, that Tony smells a little like Bucky’s, too.

Steve tucks his nose a bit firmer into Tony’s hair, and lets his eyes fall shut, lulled by Tony’s heart beating against Steve’s chest.

 

_Everything hurts, and it’s been a long time since Steve’s felt like this. He peels his eyes open with a hiss, grimacing, squinting against the sharp, bright fluorescent lights. Machine beeping and the quiet pump-hiss of oxygen. Steve realizes with a start there’s an oxygen mask on his face, and, after he processes that, that he’s in a hospital room._

_He manages to turn his head to the side, and right there, the first thing he sees, is Tony, curled up in an uncomfortable hospital chair. Even from the small distance between them Steve can see the dried tear tracks on Tony’s face. Tony’s hair falls limp and greasy over his forehead, casting deeper shadows over his eyes but doing little to truly hide how dark the circles ringing them are. Guilt wells up in his belly, like water in a clogged sink, and he swallows, his throat clicking._

_“You’re awake,” Bucky says, voice rough, from the other side of Steve’s bed. Steve rolls his head over, and he eyes Bucky where he’s standing in the doorway holding a to-go coffee cup from the cafeteria._

_“Buck,” he croaks, or tries to, and Bucky sighs._

_“Don’t try to talk you dumbass,” he says, and moves into the room. He goes over to the pitcher sitting on the table against the far wall, setting his coffee cup down in favor of pouring some water into a plastic cup. He picks up the little bendy straw sitting beside the pitcher and plunks it into the cup before carrying it over to Steve and holding it to his mouth after moving the oxygen mask out of the way. “Slowly,” he warns before Steve can even wrap his lips around it, and Steve shoots him a disgruntled look._

_“What happened?” Steve manages after downing half the water._

_“You tried to play hero,” Bucky replies, sharply, and then closes his eyes, blowing out a breath. “You were on your way to meet Tony and me for pizza and movies, and came across some alpha harassing an omega. Got yourself_ stabbed _for your trouble.”_

_“Is th’ omega okay?” Steve asks, and Bucky makes a face at him before nodding. “Good.”_

_Bucky huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. “You damn near_ died _and all you can say is 'good’. Of course. Nevermind how your friends and family feel. Or your_ mate _. Fuck, Stevie, you could_ still _die, you're not actually outta the woods!”_

_Steve hums, and smiles a little at him. There's a strange little halo effect going on around him, but he doesn't shine the way Tony does when he rolls his head back to look at his fitfully sleeping mate._

_“Steve -”_

_“You'll take good care of him,” he says, because he knows it without a doubt. Bucky loves Tony just as much as he loves Steve, just as much as Steve loves Tony. As much as Steve loves them both. Because he does, he loves them both so much. They're his world._

_He loses focus before he can say as much. His eyelids feel heavy, and sleep, he decides, sounds absolutely wonderful._

 

Steve blinks, and the memory - at least, he _thinks_ that was a memory - dissipates, leaving him staring directly into Tony's wide, teary brown eyes.

“I can't believe you're here,” he whispers, hoarse and choked. “I never thought I'd get to feel your arms around me again, or hear your voice.”

His heart clenches, and Steve doesn’t know what to say. He’s said _I’m sorry_ so many times in the last few hours it’s lost its meaning, almost. So he does the only thing he can think, and presses closer, kissing Tony’s forehead, the corner of an eye, wherever he can reach, and squeezes his eyes shut when Tony's breath hitches and he tastes salt on his tongue, smells the bitter tang of guilt and sorrow.

"Oh, sweetheart, sunflower please don't cry," he murmurs, and lets out a startled little gasp when Tony presses further into his space, just for a moment, before wrenching away, nearly toppling off of the bed. "Baby -"

"How can you stand to touch me let alone look at me when I've betrayed you!?" Tony rasps.

Steve jerks like he's been slapped, and it takes him several long, tense moments before he comprehends what Tony means. When he does, his heart breaks all over again, and he scoots back into Tony's space, reaching out to cup Tony's face. Not for the first time Steve wishes he could go back in time and beat Howard Stark senseless before he could teach Tony to hate himself like this.

"You didn't betray me, my love," Steve says gently, pained, stroking his thumb over the dark smudge under Tony's eye. "I know you, and I know you could never. Would never."

"But -"

"Shh, my darling, it's okay, my love is unconditional, you know that," Steve cuts him off, hoping his voice comes out strong and reassuring. "I understand, Tony, I do. Bucky told me what happened, granted that was after I'd seen you at the cemetery, but he told me, and honestly? If you were going to be with anyone I'd want it to be him because I know how much he cares about you, and I know he'd take good care of you. But even still, I just want you to be happy."

Tony hiccups, and surges forward to bury his face in Steve's neck. "Steve," he croaks, and trembles against him.

Steve closes his eyes again as he wraps Tony in his arms, bringing his hand up to cup the back of Tony's head, gently massaging his scalp, fingers buried in Tony's soft curls.

Tony's phone buzzes on the nightstand, long after Tony's cried himself out again, leaving him exhausted and limp on Steve's chest, his head resting over Steve's sternum so he can listen to the irregular beat of his heart. Steve squints over at it, and sighs when he sees a picture of Bucky from their last New Year's party, his arm slung over Steve's shoulders, his head tossed back in a laugh while Steve beams up at him, looking a little smug. He's pretty sure he'd made a crack about Bucky's terrible attempt to get caught under the mistletoe because he'd forgotten to take it down.

"It's Bucky calling, sunflower," he murmurs, and Tony grumbles wordlessly as he carefully rolls over and slaps at the nightstand until he's managed to grab the phone.

"'lo?" Tony says after swiping at the screen to answer, and clears his throat, putting it on speaker phone.

"So we found another one," Bucky's voice replies, sounding frustrated and resigned in turns. "Her memory is worse off than the others, but I don't think she's our missing one."

Tony blinks, and glances at Steve.

"What makes you say that?" Steve asks, because clearly this call was meant for him. Steve's pretty sure Tony doesn't know much beyond that a bunch of people crawled out of their graves.

"Well, the records I'd found about our missing person says that they're an alpha, and she is very much a beta...also very certain about her pronouns if nothing else. And to call her J." Bucky answers. "There are records of people being buried in unmarked graves, way back when, so it stands to reason that this one was buried in an unmarked grave. We wouldn't necessarily notice a hole like the others, and if Bruce or I had neither of us gave it much thought."

"How many people did you say, uh, rose from their graves?" Tony asks, sounding curious.

Steve pushes the relief he feels to the side, because he knows Tony being curious doesn't mean they're out of the woods. Steve's never met someone who can repress their emotions quite the way Tony can. He imagines it comes from growing up under Howard Stark's thumb. Bucky sighs, and Steve can imagine him running a hand through his hair or over his face. Or both.

"Including Steve, seven, but who the fuck knows now if there are more. We weren't counting on a seventh person. I think Bruce is losing his patience with them all, too," Bucky adds, a little ruefully.

Steve can just imagine. Thor had seemed extremely fascinated by the technology, though if he'd been alive in the 1800s Steve can't say he blames him. Before Bucky had called to have Bruce bring him to Tony, Peter had been grilling Doctor Banner about the medical advancements for AIDS treatment, and had nearly had a knock down drag-out fit when he discovered that people's access to medicine for HIV was severely restricted by the price. Maria, meanwhile, had been surly and belligerent, refusing to believe any of them had been dead and then come back to life and accusing them all of playing an elaborate, cruel joke on her.

“You’ve got them all, what, quarantined with the doc?” Tony asks, sounding steadier as he carefully pushes himself up so he’s leaning back on the pillows propped up against the headboard. “That clinic is a bit small to be harboring a bunch of dead people, Bucks.”

“In our defense, we just thought they were all high,” Bucky replies, with a little twist to his tone that tells Steve he's shrugging his “what can you do?” shrug. “We didn't know we were dealing with a bunch of dead people until I walked into the clinic and got slapped in the face with a ghost.”

Steve grimaces, and strokes the bottom edge of his wedding ring with his thumb, spinning it a little on his finger as he does it. Tony glances over at Steve, then down at Steve's left hand on his thigh, his expression twisting and melting. Bucky clears his throat after a couple more seconds of stilted silence, jarring them both from their thoughts.

“We don't really have much of a game plan for this,” he says, and he suddenly sounds exhausted. “There's no precedence for zombies that aren't hell-bent on eating our brains.”

“The government doesn't have a contingency plan for the zombie apocalypse, Buck,” Steve snorts, pulling a startled giggle from Tony that makes warm satisfaction curl up in his belly.

“I'd hardly call this an apocalypse, sunshine,” Tony murmurs, his gaze warm and soft.

“Well,” Bucky says quietly, “short of calling in the military or surgeon general, we're kind of floundering here.”

“No doctors, no military, no scientists,” Steve says sharply, before he can stop himself, and winces as soon as the last word leaves his mouth. Softer, he adds, “they'd treat us like experiments, less than human. Come back from the dead or not, we've got the right not to be poked or prodded by people who'd love to dissect us. And _because_ we were dead, they'd very easily be able to secret us away to do just that. And no matter how long or loudly you and Tony and Dr. Banner yelled, nobody would believe you that we exist and are being held prisoner by the military to be experimented and studied.”

Tony’s watching him, eyes wide and wet, and Steve carefully avoids his gaze. On the other end of the line, Bucky blows out a long, measured breath. Steve doesn’t let himself think about all the time he’d spent in the hospital, being poked and prodded and tested, _before_ . He doesn’t let himself wonder if _they’re_ thinking about Steve’s last time in the hospital.

“Bucks,” Tony says, eventually, softly, “you could hide them all in your cabin. I know it’s only got two bedrooms but it’s not like your couch isn’t a pull-out, and there’re sleeping bags in the shed, from your hunting trips with Clint and Quill. The cabin’s secluded enough you won’t have to worry much about nosy neighbors, and Brucie won’t have to worry about hiding a bunch of dead people when patients come by the clinic.”

“That’s a good idea, Tony,” Bucky replies thoughtfully, and from the corner of his eye Steve can see the way it makes Tony beam.

That’s a thought, he muses to himself, and shuffles it to the back of his mind for later contemplation.

“And, “ Tony continues, sounding more confident now, “Steve can stay here, with us.”

For a moment, Steve can _hear_ the record-screech sound of the needle scratching and jumping off track in the resounding silence ringing after Tony’s declaration. Steve’s pretty certain Tony doesn’t quite realize what he’s just declared, but then, he doesn’t think Tony realizes that Bucky’s in love with him, either. Tony blinks, when nobody says anything, and licks his lips, squirming a little as he meets Steve’s gaze uncertainly.

“That’s a brilliant idea, sunflower,” Steve hastens to assure. Bucky makes a strangled sound of agreement a half-beat later, and Tony’s expression melts back into a pleased little smile.

Steve leans over to kiss the corner of that smile, unable to help himself. Tony’s smile widens, and he ducks his head. It’s radiant, sunshine-bright, and Steve thinks, _allows himself to think_ , that it’s a shame Bucky isn’t in here to see it, too. He hopes Bucky’s gotten to see Tony’s sunshine smile.

He thinks Tony should _always_ smile his sunshine smile.

“Do you think you and Steve could come around and pick up some of them, drive ‘em out to the cabin so I’m not cramming six people in my jeep?” Bucky asks.

“Well _duh_ ,” Tony huffs, but there’s a grin crooked in the corner of his mouth. “I wanna meet ‘em.”

“Of course you do,” Bucky sighs fondly, and Steve laughs at the pout Tony fixes the phone.

* * *

Convincing everyone to go to Bucky’s cabin was easier than Bucky had anticipated, but he figures they’d all probably felt a little hemmed in, what with hiding in the back room or upstairs all day as Bruce saw patients. They’d been a bit more reluctant about going in the dead of night, especially when Bucky turned the jeep onto the gravel backroad, and onto the drive with thick, tall trees lining both sides.

“Are you going to murder us?” Peter had asked, and yelped when Maria elbowed him, though she had looked just as wary. It hadn’t helped that she flat out refuses to believe that she’d once been dead.

Now he’s in the store for the second night in a row, pushing a cart as he grabs food to restock the cabin. Steve and Tony are back at the cabin, keeping an eye on everyone. Bucky ignores the pained lurch-squeeze his heart had given when he’d seen them.

It’s been a couple years, sure, but he’s not completely out of practice at ignoring it.

“There you are, Barnes,” Rumlow exclaims from Bucky’s right, and Bucky bites back the frustrated snarl. “You’re pretty hard to track down, you know. Damn impressive, considering you drive a cop car and this shithole is tiny.”

“What do you need, Brock?” Bucky sighs, turning down the bread aisle.

Rumlow follows close behind, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets and scanning the shelves idly. “I stopped by the station this morning, to see if you guys needed any help. Heard you lot called for an EMT but they were all tied up in that traffic accident on the interstate. Barton assured me it was all taken care of, which I found a little curious. Thought I’d come see what all the fuss was about.”

“Just a bunch of kids,” Bucky replies, stiffly, “had a party, got drunk.”

“Uh-huh,” Rumlow hums. “About the most exciting thing that happens around here, I bet.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, snagging a loaf of bread at random. “Just about.”

Rumlow keeps following him.

“I ran into Tony this afternoon,” he declares, after a long, tense silence, watching Bucky fill the cart with cans of corn and green beans. “He looks about ready to pop.”

Bucky grimaces. “His due date’s soon, yes,” he mutters. _Not that it’s any of your business_ , he adds in his head.

“Right, so I got to thinking, maybe I should stick around for a bit, help out around here,” Rumlow continues. “You oughta be with _your omega_ , this close to the birth.”

“That’s awful thoughtful of you, Brock,” Bucky grits out, his grip on the cart handle tightening.

Rumlow smiles at him, sharp-edged and almost snide. “I thought so, too,” he says, and reaches around Bucky’s shoulder to pick up a bag of marshmallows - and Bucky’s not sure when they ended up in this aisle. He tosses the bag up and catches it with a decisive little nod, and wanders off, leaving Bucky alone with his cart of food and a creeping sense of wariness tangled with old pain and longing.

“Fuck,” he sighs under his breath, dropping his chin down to his chest. He pinches the bridge of his nose. Rumlow’s clearly suspicious, and, Bucky acknowledges with a hint of disgust, he’s smart. There’s a _reason_ he made deputy. Bucky hates admitting it, but Rumlow is good at his job, and if Rumlow thinks something strange is going on he’ll be hounding Bucky about it like a dog with a bone.

He calls Clint as he starts up towards the frozen food section, before he can second-guess himself.

“Yellow,” Clint answers on the second ring, amidst a clatter of what Bucky bets are soda bottles and Lucky barking in the background. “If you’re looking for competence, you called the wrong Barton residence.”

“Why are you so fucking weird?” Bucky sighs, pausing next to the freezer with egos. “Actually, don’t answer that.”

“But _carnival_ !” Clint protests, then sputters. “Lucky! I’ve told you, your tongue does _not_ belong in my mouth! You have your own pizza!”

Bucky snorts and cracks the freezer open enough to snag a couple boxes of egos. “This wouldn’t happen if you fed him propper dog food. And got him trained.”

“Lucky is plenty trained,” Clint argues.

“Just because he knows to go do his business outside doesn’t mean he’s properly trained, Barton,” he points out. He spots frozen blueberry waffles a freezer down, and he shuffles over to it to grab a box. “I need a favor.”

“Oh-ho, a _favor_ , huh?” Clint crows.

Bucky looks to the ceiling, and wonders not for the first time what he’d done in a past life to deserve this. “ _Yes_ , Clint, a favor.”

Clint must hear the strain in his voice, because he grows serious. “What’s up, Barnes?”

“Rumlow sort of cornered me at the grocery store,” Bucky explains, voice low. “Said he’s thinking about sticking around to help out.”

“ _Ugh_ , I hate that guy,” Clint grumbles. “But why is that a problem, really? We’re already short-staffed, and when Tony has that baby you’re not gonna wanna be working.”

“No, I know, I do, but,” Bucky bites his lip. He feels bad, pulling Clint into this without him knowing what _this_ even _is_ . “Just, can you keep him busy, somehow? If he gives you any problems just remind him it’s our county and our town and even if it weren’t, you _do_ outrank him.”

“Yeah…” Clint says, drawing the word out. He’s quiet for a beat, and Bucky takes the time to try and come up with a solid explanation.

He has to remind himself that bringing Clint in isn’t up to just him. Bucky doesn’t see why he shouldn’t, he _trusts_ Clint, but like the decision whether or not to call a higher authority in, this isn’t just his call.

“Whatever you’ve got going on,” Clint finally says, “I’ll do what I can to help, but there’s only so much I can do if I don’t know what _it_ is.”

Bucky slumps, relief and guilt warring for front and center. “I know, and I really appreciate this, Clint, I do, you don’t know how much I appreciate it. And I’d tell you, I would, but it’s not up to me, not really.”

“Barnes, are you in trouble?”

“No. I’m not in trouble,” he answers, and doesn’t say _at least I don’t think so. At least, not yet_.

* * *

Tony doesn’t remember falling asleep, but when he opens his eyes he can see the weak morning sunlight filtering in through the dark blue curtains hanging over the window. He shifts, confused, before it sinks in that he’s in Bucky’s bed at the cabin Bucky hasn’t lived in for over a year, Steve curled against his back. After so long, it feels almost _wrong_ for Bucky not to be there in bed with him, too.

He carefully extricates himself from Steve’s hold, his heart thumping hard at the thought, and pushes himself up so he’s sitting back against the headboard. He barely keeps the scream at bay when he looks over at the armchair in the corner of the room and spots the alpha from the cemetery watching him - them - munching on an apple.

“Breakfast is ready,” she informs him evenly.

“Fucking hell,” he wheezes, pressing a hand to his chest. “How long have you been sitting there?” he demands. Then, once his brain’s caught up, “were you visiting your grave yesterday, when I met you in the cemetery?”

“I’ve been sitting here long enough to know Steve would probably rip my hand off in his sleep if I got any closer to you,” the alpha - Nat, Tony recalls Steve saying the night before - replies, with a small quirk of her lips. “And what else would I have been doing there? It’s why Steve was there, too. I told him his little inscription was eerily prophetic.”

Tony huffs out a startled laugh, and covers his face with his hands. “I remember the first time I saw it. I wanted to dig him up and kick his ass.”

“He said it was supposed to comfort you,” Nat grins, as if she knows how unlikely _that_ was.

“Well, it did, a little, after awhile,” Tony admits. “It helped to think that he was here with me, even though I knew he really wasn’t.”

“I don’t remember a whole lot about my life before I died, but I do remember always thinking that people needed to believe little lies to keep from going insane, especially in this shithole world.”

Tony hums, and looks down to watch Steve sleep, a small slip of paisley red peeking out from the pocket of Steve’s jeans catching his eye. He feels his mouth tug into a small smile, and he glances back up at Nat. “That handkerchief you gave me at the cemetery, you got that from Steve, didn’t you?”

Nat nods and makes a face. “He just pulled it from his pocket and held it out to me before I’d started walking over to you. I told him he looks much too young to be carrying around handkerchiefs.”

“He used them to wrap his inhaler in,” Tony explains, chuckling a little. “I never did figure out why he did that. He’d been doing that since before I met him. Fuck, it took me a year before I stopped crying whenever I’d see paisley designs anywhere.”

“I wonder if anyone missed me the way you missed Steve,” she muses, tilting her head to the side, watching as Steve snuffles and squirms back into Tony’s space, pressing his nose against Tony’s hip and wrapping his arm around Tony’s waist.

Tony looks at him again, his heart turning over in his chest. The sight of Steve’s hair, bright against the dark green of Bucky’s sheets and pillow case. He threads his fingers through the strands, and is hit once again with the wonder that _Steve is here_.

“I’m sure someone did.”

“My grave didn’t have a surname listed. Just my first name.”

“I’m going to do some digging into the records, see who bought your plot in the graveyard, figure out some more about who you are,” Bucky’s voice declares a second before he enters the bedroom. He’s holding a glass of what Tony hopes is chocolate milk, and as if Bucky’s heard his thought Bucky grins a little at him and carries the glass over. “Figured you’d want your morning fix.”

“An angel,” Tony says, and takes it gratefully. “Thank you, Bucks.”

“Devil in disguise,” Bucky counters with a smile and a wink. “I’m sure Nat’s already informed you, but breakfast is ready. Thor is holding off the masses because I might have accidentally let slip that there’s a pregnant omega sleeping in the master bedroom.”

“Bucky!”

“It’s not like it isn’t obvious,” Nat points out, snorting when Tony glowers at her.

“He doesn’t like ‘special treatment’ just because he’s pregnant,” Bucky says.

“I am perfectly capable of fending for myself!” Tony protests, “I don’t need to be coddled just because I’ve got the miracle of life doing their best impression of a fucking tap dancer on my bladder!”

Nat snorts, a hand coming up to cover her mouth, though not fast enough to hide the smile spreading across her face. Tony huffs and crosses his arms over his chest, narrowing his eyes at her. Her eyes crinkle a little in response.

“I can see why Steve’s so smitten with you,” she manages to say, after a moment, after flicking a quick look to Bucky.

Tony feels himself soften, and turns his gaze back to Steve. “Glad someone can,” he murmurs, half-serious.

“Tony,” Bucky sighs, and gives Tony a _look_ when Tony glances up at him, a look he’s grown quite familiar with. He gets it every time he makes a joke at his own expense, though Tony maintains if you can’t poke fun at yourself you’re taking yourself too seriously. “I’ve gotta get to the station. I promised Clint I’d give him a better explanation.”

“You’re going to tell him about them?”

“Not yet,” he shakes his head, looking between Nat and Steve. “I want to discuss it with all of them before doing that. But I need to tell Clint something. I have him keeping Rumlow distracted.”

“Rumlow’s still in town?”

Bucky makes a face. “Unfortunately.”

“Wha’s unfortunately?” Steve asks, voice thick and rough with sleep, blinking groggily. “What’re you two doing in here anyway?”

“I came to tell Tony breakfast was ready,” Nat declares immediately.

“She was _watching us sleep_ ,” Tony counters, and Nat just smiles, unrepentant.

“I’ve known her for like a day, and I’m not... _remotely_ surprised by that,” Steve replies around a yawn. “Wouldn’t be surprised if Bucky was doing it too, the weirdo.”

“I wasn’t watching you sleep!”

Steve presses his laugh into Tony’s hip, and Tony smiles helplessly at Bucky, trying not to cry again. He’s cried much too much in the last twelve hours, no matter that a lot of it has been happy tears. Bucky, at least, looks like he’s not that far from crying himself either.

“No,” Steve agrees brightly, after he’s stopped laughing, “you were busy making breakfast for Tony.”

Bucky scowls. Tony feels his heart do a little flip, and he squashes down whatever niggling emotions trying to wriggle their way into his awareness. He loves Bucky, he knows he loves him; Bucky’s one of his best goddamn friends. Any warm squishy feeling he has is because Bucky’s his best friend. No other reason, he’s sure of it.

“Tony, don’t forget you have your last ultrasound appointment this afternoon,” Bucky says, brow furrowing. “I’ll meet you at the clinic, if you still want me there.”

“Oh, right,” Tony breathes out, blinking.

Bucky gives him a small smile and a nod before retreating, shooting Nat a stern look until she rolls her eyes and follows him out of the bedroom. Steve hums gently, stroking soothingly over the swell of his stomach. Tony swallows and looks down at his belly, watches Steve’s hand move over it, wondering what’s going through Steve’s mind.

They’d been trying to get pregnant, when Steve died. They’d wanted a baby so badly. He hadn’t ever thought he’d feel _relieved_ to get a negative test result back, and he’d cried so hard he threw up when he took that last pregnancy test right after Steve’s funeral.

Then he went and fucked up, and now he’s pregnant. He’s pregnant with Bucky’s child, and Steve’s _alive_ , and Tony hadn’t quite managed to come to terms with that first part before being confronted by the second. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to think or feel, _he doesn’t have the first clue_ , but Steve said that Tony didn’t do anything wrong, that he hadn’t betrayed Steve, so why does he still feel like he’s betraying him?

Why does he feel like he’s betraying Bucky?

“No rules saying we can’t both go with you, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs, perfect, kind, understanding Steve. “If you don’t mind me being there, that is.”

“Of course I want you there, Steve,” Tony croaks, “it was always supposed to be you.”

“Yeah,” he hums softly, and sits up enough to press a tender kiss to Tony’s belly. “We’ll figure this out, and then we’ll have all the time in the world. Nothing will take me away from you, not again. I won’t let it.”

* * *

“It’s about what happened at the cemetery the other day,” Bucky says with a groan, slumping over his desk when Clint makes a face and pointedly turns his hearing aids up.

“Sorry, what was that, I didn’t hear that,” Clint says drolly.

Bucky sits back up and turns to face him again. “You heard me. I _know_ you heard me. And I’ve told you, that’s all I can tell you right now, Clint.”

Clint scowls and readjusts his hearing aids. “ _Fine_ . Fine. I just don’t like this, Barnes. I don’t like covering your ass when I don’t know what I’m covering your ass _for_.”

“I know,” he sighs, and drags a hand down his face. He should’ve talked to everyone that morning. He’d _planned_ on talking to them all that morning. But then he’d taken Tony a glass of chocolate milk, saw the way he and Steve looked, curled together in bed, Steve’s arm slung over Tony’s waist protectively. Steve’s teasing and gentle laughter hidden in Tony’s hip. All thought flew from Bucky’s mind but one.

 _He wanted them more than anything_.

“Have you ever fallen in love with someone even though you knew it was a _bad_ idea?”

Clint groans. “Man, you’re asking the _wrong person_ if you want romance advice.”

“Not advice,” Bucky murmurs, and laughs humorlessly. “Not trying to woo anyone, and if I was I sure as hell wouldn’t come to you for tips. Like you said, you’re the wrong person to ask for advice on romance.”

“Wow, rude,” Clint sniffs, grins, then sighs and rolls his desk chair over to Bucky to clap his shoulder commiseratingly. “I honestly never thought you’d bring it up, Bucky. Like, I thought you were just gonna live in denial about the entire thing. God knows you’ve been doing such a bangup job so far.”

Bucky groans and glares half-heartedly over at Clint. “I haven’t been in denial at any point in any of this.”

“Oh, good, because I’m told that’s not healthy,” Clint replies.

“Hard to be in denial when you’re self-aware enough to know you only moved to a small middle-of-nowhere town because your best friend and his mate moved out here,” Bucky continues with a shrug. “I knew exactly what I was doing. It’s just sometimes I wonder if I shouldn’t have just stayed in New York.”

“Probably would’ve had an easier time to find someone else to fall in love with and get over Steve and Tony.”

Bucky frowns. Shrugs. “I don’t know. They’re the only people I’ve ever actually been attracted to. On any level.”

“Well,” Clint frowns, “I can’t say I was expecting that.”

“Yeah. Mentioned it to Becca, once, when she was pestering me about getting over them. She sent me a bunch of links to websites about the asexual and aromantic spectrums. Haven’t really bothered reading them. Don’t see much point in it. I already know what I am.”

“It’s why you don’t mind being quietly, desperately in love with them, pining away like some victorian-age alpha in a regency romance novel.”

Bucky snorts. “God, I keep forgetting you read.”

“Hey!”

“Barton can read? I guess old dogs _do_ learn new tricks!”

Bucky looks over to the door to see Rumlow smirking, clearly pleased with himself. It takes everything in him not to go over there and punch Rumlow in his smug face. Clint just rolls his eyes and wheels himself back over to his own desk, reaching up to pulls his hearing aids out as he goes.

“Morning, Brock,” Bucky sighs, and pulls over a file folder at random.

“Don’t look so happy to see me, Barnes,” Rumlow says, pursing his lips into a pout and batting his eyelashes at Bucky.

“I’ve only had one cup of coffee,” Bucky replies, flipping through the report in the file folder, “and that’s not nearly enough to deal with _you_ this early.”

Rumlow laughs and flops down in the chair on the other side of Bucky’s desk.”You wound me, Barnes. I’m beginning to think you don’t like me.”

Bucky just grunts. Rumlow’s well aware about how he feels about him. How everyone here feels about him. Bucky’s pretty sure Rumlow gets off on pissing everyone off. That and being an absolute prick.

“I poked around the cemetery a bit yesterday, after I talked to you,” Rumlow continues, and props an elbow up on Bucky’s desk, leaning his chin on his hand and smirking at Bucky. “What did you say went down there? Because I was expecting a bunch of empty solo cups and used condoms, but there wasn’t anything. Just mud, and a couple overturned flower vases.”

“I cleaned it,” Bucky replies easily, eyes still scanning over the report. “I know Tony goes to visit Steve’s grave still, and I didn’t want him seeing the cemetery like that.”

“He still pining after his dead alpha? That’s too bad, Barnes,” Rumlow says, reaching a hand out to pat Bucky’s shoulder in mock-commiseration. “You just need to fuck ‘im good again.”

Bucky knocks Rumlow’s hand away with a snarl before he can stop himself, and Rumlow leans back, raising his hands palms-forward. Clint glances over to them, brow furrowing, and Bucky’s distantly grateful Clint took his hearing aids out because if he’d heard what Rumlow’d said he’s certain he’d be trying to restrain more than just himself. As it is, he’s struggling to remember why he can’t just knock Rumlow’s teeth down his throat.

“Just a joke, Barnes, Jesus. Ease up there, buddy,” Rumlow croons, all saccharine contriteness so false it makes Bucky’s teeth ache.

“Yeah, a joke?” Bucky snaps, “I think you should keep your fucking day job. Your tries at being a comedian keep falling a little flat.” He bares his teeth in a sharp-edged smile.

Rumlow’s own smile goes flinty. “I’ll take that under consideration.”

“Hey Bucky, I got a text from Darcy,” Clint says, and Bucky gratefully turns his attention to him. Clint gives a little wink, and holds his phone up. “She says there’s a filthy-looking guy wearing a pair of overalls she’s pretty sure Mr. Lee complained about being stolen from his dryer at the laundromat yesterday.”

“How does she know they’re Mr. Lee’s overalls?”

“All of Mr. Lee’s overalls have that weird patch on the pocket,” he reminds Bucky.

“Why would anyone steal someone’s overalls out of the dryer?” Rumlow cuts in, making a face. “Who the fuck would want to wear overalls anyway?”

“Someone who needs a clean pair of pants?” Clint suggests, and signs at Bucky. S _he said he looks like he’s covered in dried mud. Does this have anything to do with that thing you can’t tell me about?_

“What’d he just say?”

“He said you’re a dumbass,” Bucky replies, nods at Clint, and closes the file. “I’ll go check it out.”

Rumlow scowls, and stands up. “I’ll come with you.”

“It’s not an official complaint,” Clint says, rolling his eyes, “and Bucky’s only going because he’s been trying to pick out a stuffed animal from the little display to give the baby. He hasn’t made a decision even though I keep telling him he should get the little hawk because it’s clearly the best. ‘Checking it out’ is his excuse to go there without looking like a total dumbass who can’t pick a stuffed animal.”

“First stuffed animals are a big deal,” Bucky counters, as he signs a thanks to Clint. “If you want to feel useful, you could always help Clint find the extra desk chair, seeing as you’ve said you’re going to be sticking around for a little bit. I think it’s somewhere in storage.”

“Uh-huh,” Rumlow huffs, and drops back down into his seat. “Have fun picking out that stuffed animal, Barnes.”

* * *

“Where’d your omega go?” Nat asks, looking around the kitchen as if she’ll find Tony hiding behind the fridge or oven. “I didn’t think he’d be willing to let you out of his sight.”

Steve finishes washing the last of the dishes from breakfast and reaches into the sudsy water to pull the plug out of the drain. “He’s taking another nap in Bucky’s room. Tony’s heart really _is_ weak, and he needs to take it easy. I guess Bucky wasn’t completely lying about why he was so reluctant to tell Tony.”

Nat hops up on the counter next to the microwave, kicking her feet against the cabinet doors while Steve gets a washcloth wet to wipe down the stovetop and kitchen table. “I told Tony I watched you guys long enough to know you’d rip my arm off if I tried coming any closer to him.”

“Why were you watching us sleep?”

“I didn’t tell him that Bucky was in there first, and that he was sitting right there on the end of the bed,” she says, ignoring him, and Steve pauses, water dripping onto the hardwood. “But then, I guess he’s your best friend, and if you can forgive him for fucking your mate, you’d be just fine with him being that close to him.”

Steve huffs and shakes his head, resuming his way to the stove. “I’ve known Bucky practically  my whole life, I’ve always trusted him with everything. He doesn’t like fighting, never has, but he’d always back my dumb ass up when I got into them back in Brooklyn.”

“I _thought_ you had a New York accent,” Nat murmurs, “wait, nevermind that. What the hell are you doing living in this hole in the wall in the middle of nowhere when you’re from _Brooklyn_?”

“Better for my lungs,” Steve replies with a shrug. “Cleaner air. Less car exhaust and cigarette smoke. Easier winters, too. I caught pneumonia one winter, scared the hell out of Tony. When I got better, Tony suggested we move out west. I worked from home, and Tony’s got enough degrees and intelligence he can get a job anywhere he wanted, more or less, so I said yes.”

“So, if you grew up in Brooklyn, with Bucky, how’d _he_ end up out here, too?”

Steve laughs softly, turning to give her a dry look. “He followed us, obviously.”

“Oh, so, he _followed_ you. Just dropped everything and followed you two out west? That’s some friend you have there.”

“Well, yeah,” Steve agrees, quirking an eyebrow. “He had a pretty easy time getting a job here, so it wasn’t like a big hardship for him. Small town cops are apparently all starstruck by city cops. Especially detectives.”

“He was a New York City detective, and just dropped his life and job there to follow you guys and become a small town cop whose only action is probably breaking up teenage house parties?” Nat repeats, incredulous. “And you didn’t stop and ask him why he was giving up his life to follow you?”

“Bucky’s an adult, I’m not gonna second-guess his decisions,” Steve retorts, frowning.

“Wow, you’re dumb.”

“Hey!”

“No, I stand by what I said. You’re _dumb_. Did you even stop to wonder to yourself why he was following you? No, no I bet you didn’t. You were probably glad to realize you’d still get to see your best friend more than at Christmas time.”

“Bucky’s Jewish,” Steve corrects, then shakes his head. “Wait, what are you implying here?”

“You know what I’m implying, you just don’t wanna think about it.”

Steve refocuses on scrubbing the stovetop, pressing harder to clean a particularly stubborn spot of grease. Nat scoffs, loud in the quiet kitchen, and Steve scrubs at the spot even harder. He wants to pretend he didn’t hear her, but his hearing’s been the best it’s ever been since he clawed his way through satin and wood and mud.

“You really should think about it, you know,” Nat continues eventually. Steve sighs, letting his shoulders drop, and Nat hums sympathetically. “If it makes you feel better, no matter what your feelings for Bucky are, I don’t think it’s going to ruin your friendship.”

“I know that,” he mumbles, finally stilling in his cleaning before letting his hands drop to his sides and turning to glare up at Nat. “I know nothing can ruin my friendship with Bucky, but it’s never been just Bucky in this equation, has it?”

Nat hums, looking unphased. “Didn’t you listen to me in the cemetery? I might not remember very much about my life before I died, but I do remember that it wasn’t exactly weird or unusual for there to be triad bonds.”

“Maybe for alpha-beta-omega triads,” Steve replies, and turns back to grab up the washcloth, the back of his neck growing hot. “Acceptance for any other kind of relationship was hard fought for, and triads consisting of two alphas and an omega or two omegas and an alpha or three omegas or three alphas? Those are still just barely tolerated in a lot of places. So, no, triad bonds aren’t weird or unusual, but people are still -”

“How long have you been dead?” Nat cuts in, and when Steve glances at her she looks angry. “I died in _1996_ , and so much has changed between now and _then_ . I spent hours on the computer, and just wow have _they_ come a long ways, looking stuff up, because I might not remember much about my own life but I remember being attracted to other alphas, too, and I remember hating that about myself, because we’re not supposed to want that, right? Alphas belong with betas or, preferably, omegas.

“And the first thing I looked up, the _very first thing_ , was how human rights have progressed. I’ve been dead for twenty years and things have gotten _better_ and sure they’re not great but they’re even better and do _you know that_? They passed a law last year, officially acknowledging that bonds can and do exist between alpha-alpha pairs or omega-omega pairs! You’ve got shit to work through, I can respect that, so do I, but you need to acknowledge that and stop being a coward!”

“Is this a bad time?” Peter interrupts, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, chewing on his lip.

“No, not at all,” Steve replies, and shoots Nat one last look before turning away from them both to rinse the washcloth off in the sink. Behind him he can hear Peter getting into the fridge for a soda, and Peter’s quiet voice carefully asking Nat if she could show him what she’d just been talking about.

He gets what she’s saying, _he does_ , but he doesn’t appreciate her butting into his life. He’s just come back, and everything _is_ different. Tony’s pregnant and Steve’s okay with that, but he knows that him showing up now has complicated everything for both Tony and Bucky. Everything _about_ the situation is complicated. It’s impossible for it not to be, he thinks, and he knows both Bucky and Tony better than anyone else, maybe even _himself_ , and he knows they’ll both pretend to be okay when they’re not.

Steve had noticed the look in Bucky’s eyes, when he first confronted him, and again when Steve had charged out of Dr. Banner’s car to see Bucky standing on his front porch with his arms crossed and his expression pained. He _hadn’t_ let himself think about it before, Nat’s right about that, not in any conscious way, but he’d always known in the back of his mind that Bucky had feelings for Tony. Not at the start, but by the time Steve had gotten sick that last time in New York, by the time Tony suggested moving here, yeah, Steve's pretty sure by then Bucky had fallen for Tony, and it's not like Steve didn't understand, he certainly didn't _blame_ him.

Tony's so easy to love.

“Sheriff Barnes seems to have found another one,” Thor declares, coming in from the back door. He's covered in sweat and mud and what Steve thinks is saw dust, and he absently wonders what the fuck Thor was even doing out there. “Quite possibly it is the one who is unaccounted for.”

“Peter, could you go get some clean clothes from the spare room?” Steve asks as he tosses the washcloth into the sink. He turns the water on in the opposite basin and washes his hands quickly before setting about making some sandwiches for the newbie.

A wolf whistle cuts through the easy silence just as Steve's putting the bread away, and he turns in time to see Bucky slap a hand over his face. The stranger beside him leers at Steve. When Bucky moves his hand from his face, his expression tells Steve that he's also been on the receiving end of this stranger's appraisal, and quite possibly more. He feels a pang of something - sympathy, maybe, a little jealousy he refuses to acknowledge - go through him.

“Are those sandwiches for me, gorgeous?” The stranger asks, coming into the kitchen properly, his eyes raking over Steve again, full of a kind of approval that makes Steve's hackles raise.

He's been on the receiving end of those looks many a time, from alphas who assumed he was an omega because of his height and slight build, and this look, this time, isn't any different than before. He kind of wants to sock this guy directly in the jaw, but instead he grits his teeth and nods. The stranger beams, and rushes to the table to snag the plate like someone's going to take it away from him after all.

“Steve, this is Wade, our missing alpha,” Bucky introduces wearily. “Wade, this is Steve, and before he actually punches you, maybe don't hit on him. He has an omega, and even if he didn't, Steve isn't attracted to alphas.”

“Aw, that's a shame,” Wade pouts, “I was looking forward to a little alpha on alpha action, since you turned me down.”

Steve blinks, thrown, by both Wade and Bucky.

“Sorry,” Steve says, wiping his hands off on his pants, then adds, “while alpha on alpha action is spectacular, I’m pretty committed to Tony and he’d have to be interested in the other alpha too for anything to happen. But mostly I’m not into one night stands anymore, either.”

“A _shame_ ,” Wade replies, “because one night stands are all I’m really good for.”

Steve shrugs, and glances at Bucky, nervous. Bucky stares, wide-eyed, lips slightly parted, and whatever confused doubts Steve had about Bucky’s warning to Wade are no longer questions. Suddenly everything shifts, just the slightest bit, with this realization, and he wonders how _Bucky didn’t know_ . And then, like light coming on in a dark room, it occurs to him that in all the times he’d talked to Bucky, those two years they’d gone to different colleges, about his girlfriend Peggy, or about his boyfriend Sam, that he never mentioned they were _alphas_.

Peter comes into the kitchen, clothes in his hands, and stops in his tracks, eyeing Wade. “Hey, he’s already got clothes!”

Wade turns his attention to Peter, and waggles his eyebrows at him. “Well if you wanted me naked all you had to do was _ask_.”

Steve huffs a soft laugh, finally tearing his gaze from Bucky’s. “I’m gonna go check on Tony,” he mutters, and flees the kitchen, mind racing. He thinks he wouldn’t feel so off-kilter if Nat hadn’t ambushed him earlier about Bucky. He doesn’t want to think about it. He just wants to curl around Tony and not think about anything at all.

* * *

“Brucie-bear, we have this conversation every time,” Tony complains the moment the gel hits Tony’s skin, “couldn’t you warm this stuff up first?”

Steve and Bucky both snort, hovering off to the side like naughty children. Tony rolls his head on the exam table to look at them, heart twisting a little, stomach swooping. Steve smiles tremulously, eyes shiny, and Tony wants him beside him, hand in his.

“What are you doing all the way over there? Get over here,” he says, and Steve darts over to him like all he’d been waiting for was Tony’s permission. Bucky hangs back, and that’s - that’s _wrong_. Bucky belongs here beside him, too.

“Buck, get your ass over here, it’s your kid too, dumbass,” Steve says before Tony can say as much, raising his brows at Bucky when Bucky doesn’t immediately move.

Bruce looks between them, the ultrasound wand in his hand, clearly waiting for Bucky to stop being a dumbass.

Bucky ducks his head, and finally moves over to them, walking around the head of the table to stand at Tony’s other side. Tony reaches out for both of them, grabbing their hands and holding on tight. Steve lifts his hand to his lips and presses a kiss to the back of it, and Bucky gives his hand a gentle squeeze. Tony smiles and nods at Bruce.

Bruce smiles back, and sets the wand against Tony’s stomach, moving it through the gel, arcing over Tony’s belly, and soon enough Bruce has the screen turned towards them, displaying the baby.

“Everything looks to be in order,” Bruce informs them. “The heartbeat is good and strong. You both should be proud.”

“Look at that lil bean,” Steve coos.

Tony melts, squeezes Steve’s hand harder, and glances at Bucky. Bucky smiles down at him, his expression so warm and tender Tony feels his heart skip a beat, two. He smiles back, warm, and feeling so full of love he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Bucky’s gaze goes back to the computer monitor, and Tony closes his burning eyes, all at once overwhelmed with everything.

“Alright,” Bruce says and pulls his hands back, turning to clean the wand off. “Go ahead and wipe off your belly, I’m gonna check your heart.”

“ _Ugh_ ,” Tony sighs, and lets go of Bucky and Steve to clean the gel off of his stomach with the wipe Bruce had left on his thigh. “It hasn’t bothered me at all, no palpitations or anything.”

“Still going to check it,” Bruce replies, “which you are aware of. Because we have _this_ conversation every time, too.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony pouts, and settles back against the exam table once again.

Steve takes his hand in his, bringing it up to press a kiss to his knuckles, soft and reassuring. “I shouldn't even be surprised you kick up a fuss about check ups,” he chuckles, Tony's hand still pressed to his lips so he can feel the find smile against his skin.

Tony smiles, can't help himself, and wiggles his fingers until they're laced with Steve's. “I've been stubborn my whole life, and nothing's gonna change that.”

“Anyone who thinks differently is a damn fool,” Bucky huffs, and Tony beams up at him.

“Aw, you know me so well, snookums,” he laughs, and delights in the snort it earns from Steve, the soft little smile that tugs the corner of Bucky's mouth up.

Bruce clears his throat, smiling, and takes Bucky's place on Tony's right. After that, the room is quiet save for Bruce's soft questions and Tony's murmured answers. Steve stays beside him throughout it all, listening attentively, asking the occasional question, and all the while Bucky hovers by Tony's head, arms crossed over his chest. None of this is new to Bucky, not the way it is for Steve, but the fact that he stays, that he listens, pays attention to the same information every single time, makes something warm and fluttery settle in Tony's stomach.

He doesn't know what to do with these feelings. Hasn't known what to do with them since they first cropped up. And if he's being honest with himself if no one else, these feelings, these warm gooey fluttery feelings, have been there for awhile, just waiting for him to acknowledge them.

Tony doesn't really want to acknowledge them.

 _I have Steve,_ he thinks somewhat desperately, _I have Steve, how can I betray him like this?_

“I have a question,” Steve pipes up, when Bruce begins deftly pulling his gloves off, pulling Tony from his thoughts.

“Hm?” Bruce hums, turning back to Steve.

“It's - I noticed it earlier, but my hearing is better than it was before,” he continues, and gestures at his left ear. “Normally I'd have to read your lips because I'd miss half of what you're saying, but I had no problem, and I know you weren't talking any louder than normal.”

“You were deaf before you died?” Bruce asks, looking surprised.

Steve shrugs, a little sheepishly. “Partially, yeah.”

“I don't think that's the only thing that's improved for you,” Bucky adds thoughtfully. “That night, when I showed you your grave, you took off running and when I found you you didn't seem like you were having any problems breathing, and I'm pretty damn sure you didn't have an inhaler with you either.”

“You're right,” Steve says, stunned.

“Hold it,” Tony interrupts, shoving fully upward, “this is - this is completely _fascinating_!”

“I wonder how much has changed,” Bruce muses, and Tony can feel the curiosity burning in him, bright and hot with the unknown.

“ _I_ wonder how they were all brought back to life,” Bucky says, loudly, before Bruce and Tony can really get going. “That answer will probably answer your other questions.”

“That's a good point,” Tony concedes. “I wonder _who_ brought them all back, because this was definitely _someone's_ science experiment.”

“Whoever it is, they'll probably be on the lookout for us, or some kind of disturbance anyway,” Steve points out, “and I don't know about you, but to me this screams illegal experimentation.”

Tony's curiosity comes crashing down, then, as he begins thinking about all the ways he might lose Steve this time.

“When we get back to the cabin, we need to discuss telling Clint with the others. He can protect you all better if he knows,” Bucky sighs, brows furrowing.

Tony wants to snuggle into his side, comfort him and distract him enough he'll relax at least for a little bit. He stays seated on the exam table instead, palms flat over his belly, rubbing soothingly like he wants to rub Bucky's shoulders. The baby kicks like it knows something's wrong.

“Maybe we should ask them if they've noticed any differences from what they remember before, health-wise, like Steve,” Tony suggests, to distract himself from his fumbling, confused thoughts.

“I dunno how helpful they'll be,” Steve murmurs, mouth twisting into a wry smile. “Most of them, their memories aren't there.”

“But yours are,” Tony frowns.

“Sort of,” he shrugs and glances quickly at Bucky before meeting Tony's eyes again. “I remember most everything except those few days just before I died. Or, well, I've got scattered memories of it, anyway. I vaguely remember waking up in the hospital and seeing you sitting by my bed, and Bucky, just coming in with a coffee cup.

“But I think I remember so much because I wasn't dead as long as the others, and because I've got you and Bucky here. People I know and remember.” Steve strokes his thumb over the back of Tony's hand, and smiles softly at him. “If you weren't here I wouldn't want to remember a damn thing about my life before.”

“ _Steve_ ,” Tony murmurs, low, and grips Steve’s fingers tight. He knows exactly how Steve feels, and he knows he only made it through those two years because of Bucky, and Pepper and Rhodey and Happy, but mostly Bucky.

 

* * *

Two weeks, and they're not any closer to answers. Bucky's spent hours digging up whatever information about them he can find. Clint's been a real help, and he's glad that the risen agreed to bringing Clint into the fold, mostly by keeping Rumlow distracted. But Bucky can see Rumlow's only growing more suspicious. He's started pestering Dr. Banner, and Bucky's sure Rumlow would be bothering Tony too if he thought he could get away with it. As it stands, Bucky's warning still seems to be nice and fresh in Rumlow's mind two years later.

“There's nothing connecting everyone,” Tony groans from the couch, letting an old record of births and deaths he'd gotten from the town archives settle on his stomach facedown. “Just Peter and Wade, and that's looking like more of a coincidence than anything else.”

“So whoever did this either picked graves at random, or they had some bizarre criteria we haven't found yet,” Bucky muses. “Unless Peter’s and Wade's connection _isn't_ a coincidence and the deaths are the point. Maybe our mad scientist wanted a pool of samples to see if any death isn't reversible.”

“Could be, but if that's the case we'd see more connections somewhere. Maria died in a car accident, Thor in a farming accident. Nat thinks she was murdered, and mystery beta can't remember anything.”

“Well, we can assume she was either an execution or a suicide,” Bucky replies, “since she has no corresponding empty grave. She had to have been buried in an unmarked grave, which actually, taking that into consideration, I'm beginning to wonder if our mad scientist had any kind of real control over who was brought back.”

“Good point,” Tony yawns.

Steve wanders back from the kitchen then, a mug of hot chocolate in his hands. Bucky watches them as Steve takes the records from Tony and puts the mug into Tony's hands, feeling a faint smile working its way across his face. Watching them together, the easy way they love each other, the way they synchronize so effortlessly, brings Bucky a sense of peace.

It always has. It's why he's fine with just their friendship. They let him into their world, and it's more than he'd ever ask for. They care for him, and he loves them both deeper than he ever thought possible, and just getting to be a part of their life is enough.

Granted, he muses when Steve glances over at him, quick and then away, things have been kind of awkward between Steve and him. He's still not sure what to do with this new knowledge about Steve. He'd been _so sure_ Steve wasn't remotely attracted to alphas, but now he can acknowledge that maybe he'd convinced himself of that because it was, at first, easier than thinking that he _could_ have a chance with Steve if only Steve was interested in _him_. It's made him reevaluate a lot of their past.

“Have you or Clint questioned the groundskeeper?” Steve asks after settling behind Tony on the sofa, Tony leaning back against his chest and wrapped up tight in a blanket. “Asked 'em if they'd seen anything strange or out of the ordinary in the weeks prior to a bunch of dead people crawling outta their graves?”

“I haven't had the chance to,” Bucky answers, and sighs. “Rumlow has been watching us both like a hawk, and I wouldn't put it past him to have asked Sharon to keep an eye on us, too, now that she's back from vacation.”

“I hate that guy,” Tony mutters before he takes a sip of his hot chocolate. His eyes flutter shut, and he hums happily, his next sip more of a gulp. “I’ve missed this stuff.”

Steve smiles sadly and nuzzles Tony’s neck. “Bucky wouldn’t make any for you?”

“I don’t know how you make that stuff,” Bucky replies before Tony can answer. “I tried exactly _once_ and it was, to put it mildly, not good.”

Tony grimaces and shoots him an apologetic look. “Sorry,” he mumbles into the cup.

Bucky shakes his head. “It’s not your fault, Tony.”

“Probably mine,” Steve agrees, and kisses the back of his head. “I don’t remember, but truthfully I probably never bothered to teach Bucky my recipe, and I don’t have it written down anywhere either.”

“I did appreciate you trying,” Tony says, after a bit, and glances up at Bucky from beneath his lashes. “I know I certainly didn’t act that way, but, really, it means a lot to me that you tried.”

Bucky had cleaned hot chocolate from the wall and floor, and picked up the shattered pieces of a bright pink coffee cup, in the aftermath of Bucky’s one attempt. In hindsight, he could admit that it probably wasn’t the best idea, not so soon after Steve’s death, but he’d remembered how hot chocolate had always seemed to cheer Tony up and he hadn’t really known what else to do. Tony had cried for hours, afterwards, and Bucky had held him and stroked his hair and cried a little bit himself, and after Tony had fallen asleep Bucky’d put away anything to do with hot chocolate or making it.

Lovelace choses then to make her appearance, winding around Bucky’s feet, purring loudly, before jumping up into his lap. Tony smiles sadly as Bucky sets a hand on Lovelace’s back, petting her. They settle into a comfortable silence, Steve gently stroking Tony’s belly while Tony half-dozes against him, and Bucky carefully stroking Lovelace.

An hour later, Tony’s cell phone disrupts the quiet, and Tony grumbles as he untangles himself from the blanket to reach it on the end table. Bucky blinks his eyes open, wondering just when he’d dozed off himself, as he watches Tony check it. His face breaks out into a brilliant smile.

“It’s Jan,” he exclaims, “confirming that she’ll be driving out from L.A.”

“Jan Van Dyne?” Steve asks as he rubs at his eyes.

“Mmhmm. She’s my midwife. She’s been staying in town with Darcy and Jane, but she had to go back to L.A. last month to be there for Hope’s first science fair.”

“And Hank was getting all whiny because his alpha was off in Colorado,” Bucky adds, laughing, recalling Janet’s smitten little smile as she explained why she’d be gone for a month.

“Jan’s the fashion designer, right?” Steve asks hesitantly, face scrunched up into that frown he gets when he’s trying to concentrate.

“Yep!” Tony replies cheerfully. “She’s the one who threatened to turn you into a one-of-a-kind leather handbag if you ever hurt me.”

Steve blanches a little. “Yeah, yeah I remember her now. Pepper just threatened to take my eye out with her heels.”

Tony’s cheer fades abruptly, and he twists to shoot Steve a worried look. “What are we going to tell her about you?”

“The truth,” Bucky answers, and shrugs when Tony whips around to stare at him incredulously. “What? Jan’s smart, she won’t believe any lie we try and come up with.”

“And she’s going to believe I just crawled my way out of my own grave two years after I died?”

“She’ll probably say she’s seen weirder things happen,” Tony replies, his grin starting to come back, much to Bucky’s satisfaction. “Her omega _did_ discover how to communicate with ants.”

“What?”

Bucky can’t help himself. He laughs at the look on Steve’s face, curling forward until he’s laughing into his knees. Lovelace makes a disgruntled noise and jumps from his lap before she’s squashed by him, and Bucky reminds himself to give her a little treat in apology.

“It’s a...really long story,” Tony replies, with a little giggle of his own. “I’ll let Jan tell it to you. She’s run out of new people to complain about it to.”

* * *

“So, Wade and Peter have gotten extremely cozy,” Steve declares, coming back from the bedroom where Tony’s taking a nap. Bucky startles and the plastic cup he’d been drying clatters into the sink. Steve feels a bit guilty about that, but mostly he’s just grateful for the chance to talk to Bucky alone.

Since meeting Wade and essentially coming out, they haven’t really been alone together once. It was mostly unintentional, at least on Steve’s part. Tony’s barely let Steve out of his sight - Steve’s barely let Tony out of his sight in turn, truthfully - and after talking to Tony about it, and Tony agreeing… Well, he thinks this conversation should be just between him and Bucky, first.

“I’m not surprised,” Bucky replies, reaching into the sink for the cup he’d dropped. “I caught them kissing behind the shed the other day.”

“I wonder if they knew each other, before they died,” Steve muses. “They died a year apart, and they were both, well -”

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs. “They still don’t seem to remember much about their lives before. Not the way you and Thor do. Or Nat.”

“Clint knew her,” Steve points out, still shocked by that. “She still doesn’t remember much, but talking to Clint seems to help.”

“Thor -”

“Did you really not know I’m queer?” Steve blurts, and bites his tongue as soon as the words leave his mouth.

Bucky flinches, and he carefully puts the cup into the drying rack before turning to face Steve. His expression is tight with something Steve can’t read, and that’s _wrong_. He’s always been able to read Bucky’s expressions.

“No,” Bucky confirms after a long pause. “I had no idea. I guess - I guess I figured you’d tell me, if you were.”

Steve winces. “It never really occurred to me that you _didn’t_ know,” he says, and glances away, at the cupboard he’d found everything he needed to make Tony some hot chocolate. “I’m the one who always dragged you to queer bars. It seemed kind of obvious to me, you know?”

“In hindsight, I suppose so.”

“Why’d you think I was always dragging you to queer bars, if it wasn’t to find an alpha to hook up with?”

Bucky flushes, and looks away. “Everyone was always giving me shit for being single. I thought maybe it was your way of trying to encourage me to find someone.”

“It was never my place to butt into your love life or lack thereof.” Steve moves closer, until he’s within arm’s length. His heart is racing. “I was always relieved, if we’re - if I’m honest. I was more relieved that I was in Boston when you started dating that alpha you met in City College. I hated the idea of watching you with someone else, and I hated that about myself because you deserve to be happy.”

“What are you saying?”

“You know what I'm saying,” he grumbles, then blows out a breath. They've clearly spent too long not saying what needs saying, and he certainly hadn't had one of the most difficult conversations with Tony just to take Bucky’s cop out.

Bucky shifts, drawing in on himself the way he did whenever one of their friends teased him about being single. Closing off. Steve’s heart lurches, and he needs something to do with his hands so he goes over to the cabinet and pulls out the things to make his hot chocolate, Bucky’s eyes following him all the while.

“You never showed interest in me,” he says as he starts setting everything up, “so I kept how I felt about you to myself. I was happy just to be your friend. Tony knew, of course, he knew from the start. He thought you and I were a couple, when we first met, and it took me a bit to convince him that we _weren’t_ , and then, that I wasn’t going to leave him for you if you ever decided you like me back.”

“Steve - _what_ \- ?”

“It never occurred to me that you didn’t know,” Steve continues, keeping his eyes focused on his hands as he chops the chocolate. “Not until you told Wade to back off, that I wasn’t into alphas. Then I realized that I never said as much, that when I was dating Peggy or Sam I never actually mentioned that they were alphas too. But even still I didn’t really give it much thought, until I mentioned to Tony that you hadn’t known until a couple weeks ago.

“And then he told me about how _you_ reacted to my death,” he sets a pot on the stove to heat up some milk before turning to look at Bucky. “He said that Rhodey told him he was pretty sure you’d have gone off the deep end if you hadn’t had Tony to take care of.”

Bucky swallows thickly, breath hitching. “Are you surprised by that? That Tony’s the only thing that kept me going?”

“If you feel about me the way I feel about you, the way I feel about Tony,” Steve replies, softly, pressing his hands flat against his thighs to keep them from shaking, “then, no, I’m not surprised. The idea that you feel the same way as I do _is_ surprising, but Tony’s pointed out that if you didn’t know this thing about me then maybe there’s some things I’ve missed, too.”

He quirks his lips a little before turning to get the milk out of the fridge. Bucky’s quiet for a long time, watching him as he measures out the milk and dumps it in the pot and turns on the burner. Steve lets him have his quiet.

“What about Tony?” Bucky finally croaks, his voice cracking on Tony’s name.

“Tony’s my mate,” Steve says easily while carefully stirring the milk, “I love him, and I love you. I love you both, equally. I always have. I’m not expecting anything from this, Buck. It’s just, well, I died, and I never said anything, and the more I thought about that these last weeks, the more I’ve realized that I regret that. I regret you didn’t know how I felt about you. I regret that I was a coward.”

“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky rasps, and gets ahold of Steve’s shoulder to pull him around, the spoon clattering back into the pot with a little splash and wooden thunk against metal.

“It’s okay, Buck,” he whispers, reaching up to grip Bucky’s wrist, giving him a gentle squeeze.

Bucky shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut, leaning down until his forehead is pressed against Steve’s. “You and Tony are the most important people in my life,” he whispers, “and I will _not_ ruin that. Not again.”

Steve get his hand on the back of Bucky’s neck, palm shaping to the curve of his nape, and squeezes gently. “Buck, you haven’t ruined anything. You never could. Maybe I should have brought this up with Tony here, but I wanted… _We_ hadn’t talked just us since that afternoon, and this was something I wanted to tell you because it’s just for you -”

“I - It’s - I can’t,” Bucky stammers, his hand sliding down from Steve’s shoulder to join his other hand on Steve’s hips. He licks his lips, and opens his eyes, meeting Steve’s gaze, almost too close. “I can’t have just you, Stevie. Once that would have been everything I’d ever wanted, but now -”

“Now,” Steve smiles, Steve _beams_ , “now it has to be Tony, too, doesn’t it?”

“ _Yes_.”

“ _Good_ ,” Steve breathes, and tugs Bucky in, brushing his lips over Bucky’s for a soft, chaste kiss before letting Bucky go. “Then pay attention. I’m going to teach you how to make Tony’s hot chocolate.”

* * *

Tony wakes up alone, and his stomach lurches, dread spilling out and through him until he forces himself to just _breathe_ . He can hear Steve and Bucky, talking too quietly for Tony to be able to understand what they’re saying, but loud enough for him to know that they’re _there_.

He imagines them there together, talking, eyes on each other the way they were that very first time Tony saw them and he’d been so certain they were a couple. Now, Tony knows, if they’re looking at each other, if Steve is looking at Bucky with that soft hearts-in-his-eyes look, Bucky might actually see it for what it is. And maybe Steve, if he _actually looks_ , might see the way Bucky looks at him in turn.

Once, the idea had terrified him to no end. Now, well, _now_ … Now it makes Tony ache in the best way. Makes him want things he never would have let himself think about before.

He hopes Steve tells Bucky. It’d taken him way too long to convince Steve that Bucky felt the same, and even now Tony’s pretty sure Steve still doesn’t believe him.

 _Stubborn oblivious bastard_ , he thinks fondly, and shifts onto his other side to alleviate the ache in his hip.

It feels too good to be true, he muses, letting his eyes drift shut. Steve doesn’t hate him, doesn’t think that Tony’s betrayed him, and he already loves this baby like its his, did, Tony thinks, from the very first moment he set eyes on Tony.

_“Sometimes when I’d get off while you were busy with work I’d imagine you and Bucky together,” Steve admits softly between kisses, reassurance and a quiet sort of need. “Imagine how gentle he’d be with you, because he would, he’d be so careful with you, sunflower, I’m certain of it. The way he watches you.”_

_Tony flushes and swallows. “Steve -”_

_“Other times,” he continues, as if Tony hadn’t said anything at all, “well, other times I imagine what it’d be like to have you between him and me. Or - or him between you and me. Or me between you two.”_

_“All three of us?” Tony whispers, and lets himself, finally, think about it. Think about the foggy, patchy memories of the one and only time he’d been with Bucky, the way he’d longed for Steve more than anything else, but not for it to be_ just _Steve, but for him to be there with_ them _. He thinks maybe that’s what ate at him the most. Steve’s always been enough,_ always _, but he wanted… More._

_“Yes, sunflower,” he agrees, and kisses Tony again, just shy of being filthy. “All three of us. Always wanted that. You’re my mate, you always will be, and I love you so much. I never said anything because I was afraid you’d think you weren’t enough, and that’s not true, not at all.”_

_“I think I know what you’re saying,” Tony interrupts, when Steve takes a moment to press another kiss to his forehead. “When Bucky and I - when we were - I wanted you there. I didn’t want him to_ be _you, I wanted you to be there_ with us _. And you weren’t. And afterwards, I felt like I’d betrayed you, and like I’d betrayed Bucky, too. Like I’d taken advantage of him.”_

_“Oh, sunflower, you never could,” Steve promises, “he loves you too. I can see it.”_

_“He loves_ you _, too, you know,” Tony mumbles instead of responding to_ that _wild notion that, he’ll allow, maybe isn’t all that wild at all._

_“He doesn’t,” Steve disagrees immediately, with a little frown, “he’s never been interested in me.”_

_Tony snorts and kisses the corner of his mouth. “My love, you said he didn’t know you’re attracted to alphas, too, until the other day. Have you ever considered that maybe he thought any interest in you would be unwelcome?”_

_“He… No,” he frowns some more, and Tony can’t help the little laugh that escapes before he presses another kiss to the corner of his mouth._

_“You didn’t think_ your _interest would be welcome, because you thought he wasn’t interested in you,” Tony continues gently, fond and a little exasperated, “and you had the advantage of knowing that he’s interested in alphas. I don’t think it’s much of a stretch to think he was operating under similar thoughts. Of course, I’ve also got the outside advantage of seeing the way he looks at you when you’re not looking. And of knowing that I sure as hell wasn’t the only one who fell apart when you died.”_

_“Sweetheart,” Steve says, pained, and Tony kisses him quiet._

_“It’s not your fault, Steve. I always knew I wouldn’t do well without you. I hadn’t counted on Bucky being there to patiently pick up the pieces and hold them until I was ready to put them back together again. Rhodey said taking care of me is what kept Bucky from going off the deep end himself.”_

_“He -”_

_“He loves you too, Steve,” Tony confirms, smiling._

Tony startles from his thoughts, from the memory, when the door opens. He peeks an eye open, and watches Steve, one hand laden with a coffee cup, lead Bucky into the bedroom, his other hand in Bucky’s, their fingers laced together. Warmth rushes through him at the sight, warmth and so much tender affection his eyes well up with tears until they’re spilling over.

“He’s ours, Buck,” Steve whispers, and gives a little tug on Bucky’s hand when he hesitates in the threshold. “I know you don’t believe me yet, but he’s ours and we’re his. Just like you’re both mine and we’re both yours.”

“Steve -”

“It’s true,” Tony manages. He rubs his face against the pillow, kicking up Steve’s scent, and Bucky’s, before carefully pushing himself up to sit. “I love you both more than I know what to do with.”

Bucky makes a small, wounded noise, and a moment later he’s in the bed wrapped around Tony, burying his face in Tony’s neck. Tony smiles over at Steve as he wraps his arms around Bucky, holding him tight.

“That’s more like it,” Steve says, and deposits the coffee cup on the side table before climbing up on the bed with them, curling around Bucky’s back and pressing a kiss to his nape.

They're like that for a long while, until the baby starts tap practice on his bladder and he groans softly. Bucky and Steve are both upright and watching him as soon as the sound leaves his throat, and he huffs at them, gesturing at his stomach.

“Baby's awake and kicking,” he explains, then, “here, put your hands here, you can feel it.”

“I’m never going to get over how amazing this is,” Steve whispers reverently as he places his palm over the spot. He beams at Tony before moving his hand away to grab Bucky’s, placing it over the same spot. “You two made a _miracle_ , this is amazing. I love you both so much.”

“ _Steve_ ,” Tony chokes, eyes welling up immediately.

“I can’t believe,” Bucky whispers, his eyes wide and brimming with tears of his own, “that I can have… I get _this_ , both of you, and this baby, I never thought…”

Tony reaches up, hands shaking, and cups Bucky’s face, stroking his thumbs under Bucky’s eyes, swiping at the stray tears. “You better work on believing it, honey, because you’ve got us,” he says, and pulls Bucky to him until he can press their mouths together in a sweet kiss.

Steve hums happily beside them, lifting his hand and sinking his fingers into Bucky’s hair, curving around the back of his head, his other hand moving to the back of Tony’s neck, covering Bucky’s hand, lacing their fingers together. The kiss ends after a long, lingering moment Tony’s reluctant to pull away from, and Steve takes the opportunity to swoop in to kiss Tony, soft and quick, before rounding on Bucky. Tony relaxes into the pillows and watches them, warm and relieved and _happy_.

“Bucks,” Tony murmurs, when they break apart and press their foreheads together, breathing heavily. “Bucky, honey, I _love you_ , okay? Don’t ever doubt or question that. _I love you_.”

Bucky sucks in a harsh, wet breath, but when he straightens up to look at Tony again he’s smiling that bright thing that used to be just for Steve. “I love you, too, sweetheart. I love you, and I love you, Steve. Both of you. _So much_.”

* * *

Tracking down Scott Lang was easier said than done, Bucky concludes three hours into his search. The alpha worked three different jobs, groundskeeper for the cemetery included, and apparently didn’t have a cellphone. He’d be less irritated if he didn’t have Steve and Tony waiting for him to finish up so they could have dinner and watch some movies - ones Steve’s missed out on. He’s been walking on cloud nine. Or he _would_ be, if only he could find Lang.

He pulls into the cemetery, and parks by a beat up truck that wasn't there when he stopped by that morning. The plates match Lang’s, and he sighs in relief as he climbs out of his jeep. Whatever schedule Lang keeps, it’s convoluted at best. Bucky’s just glad he’s finally managed to track him down.

Lang’s, naturally, on the other side of the cemetery, and Bucky makes his way over to him, hoping he’ll see Bucky before he’s reached him. He watches, bemused, as Lang dances with the rake he’s holding, head bopping along to whatever he’s listening to, and tries not to laugh when Lang looks up and spots him making his way over, letting the rake topple to the ground, kicking up leaves as it does.

“Can I help you?” Lang calls as he tugs his headphones down.

“Yeah,” Bucky nods, and closes the last several feet of distance before continuing. “I’m Sheriff Barnes with the Timely Sheriff Department, and I’ve got a few questions.”

Lang sighs, and slumps a little. “I haven’t left the state, and I haven’t missed any of my parole check-ins.”

“What? No, this isn’t about that,” Bucky shakes his head and pulls out a notebook and pen. “I have some questions about the cemetery.”

Lang’s brows raise, and he looks almost incredulous. “The cemetery?”

“Yes. Have you noticed anyone hanging around here the last couple months? Or any suspicious activity?”

“Well, I’m guessing you’re not asking about that omega who comes up here once a week, though, come to think of it, I haven’t seen ‘em in a couple weeks… Did something happen to ‘em?”

“No, Tony’s fine,” Bucky assures him.

“Well then, no, I can’t say I’ve seen anyone hanging around that shouldn’t be,” he replies with a little shrug. He frowns a moment later, and bites his lip. “Actually, it’s not that someone was hanging around, but someone, I _swear_ I thought they were with the people overseeing this place! But, someone showed up a month or so back and gave me these barrels of liquid to put in the sprinkler system. They said it was some new kinda experimental lawn care thing, I don’t know, I’m not paid enough to care about that if we’re being real here, Sheriff, but I dunno. Thinking about it, they seemed kinda nervous, I guess, so that’s kinda suspicious, isn’t it?”

“Do you have any idea what might have been in those barrels?”

“Not really,” Lang says with a grimace. “To be honest, I didn’t wanna know.”

Bucky nods and scribbles down a couple notes. “Do you think you could describe what this person looked like?”

Lang grimaces some more. “Sorry, no. It was a while ago. I think they were maybe an alpha or a beta? White. Middle-aged. Maybe kinda overweight? That’s all I’ve got.”

“That’s alright,” he sighs, and adds it to the notebook. “Thanks, Mr. Lang. If you can think of anything else, please give me a call.” He puts his notebook back in his breast pocket and pulls out a business card.

“Yeah, can do, Sheriff,” Lang agrees, pocketing the business card. “Hey, does this have anything to do with that damn hole at the northeast edge of the cemetery? Almost broke my ankle last week when I was taking care of the hedges, and I know that hole wasn’t there a couple weeks back. _And_ I know it’s too big to have been from an animal.”

Bucky curbs the frown that wants to creep across his face, and shakes his head. “I don’t think so, no, but I can check it out if you’d like?”

“Nah, it was just a hole. Probably some bored kid looking for those unmarked graves from the 19th century.”

“Yeah, probably. Have a good day, Mr. Lang, and thank you for your cooperation,” Bucky says, and sends him a friendly smile before heading back for his jeep.

His phone goes off as he’s climbing in, and he answers it, mind churning over what Lang had told him.

“Bucky,” Tony says, voice small and thin and anxious, and Bucky feels his whole body stiffen in response. “Bucky, Rumlow followed me to your cabin and he’s headed towards me right now and I don’t think I’ll be able to convince him to leave.”

“Is everyone inside?” he asks, shoving the key into the ignition and turning it on with a sharp twist.

“Yeah, yeah I think so, but please get here quick. I don’t think Steve’ll stay inside if he sees Rumlow out here with me.”

“I’m on my way, baby, don’t worry,” he soothes, turning the speaker phone on and setting his phone on the dash so he can put his seatbelt on and put the jeep in gear. “I’m gonna keep the phone on, and I want you to do the same, even after I get there, okay?”

“Okay,” Tony replies, then curses quietly. There’s some rustling, and then the unmistakable shift as Tony puts his phone on speaker.

Bucky listens as he drives, only paying half-attention to the road.

“Deputy Rumlow,” Tony says, and Bucky’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Rumlow chuckles. “A few things come to mind.”

The drive from the cemetery to his cabin is ten minutes. Bucky’s tempted to turn the lights and siren on to cut that time in half. _Anything_ to get Rumlow away from Tony, and from Steve and the others, as soon as possible. The only thing that keeps him from doing it is the knowledge that Rumlow’d probably hear it over the phone, and he has no idea what Rumlow might do.

There’s been a niggling, nagging feeling in his gut, has been since he showed up at the station to “help out”. The whole situation hasn’t felt right, though he can acknowledge that not much about a situation involving people being _spontaneously resurrected_ can possibly feel right. But Rumlow’s never been all that concerned about the goings on in Timely, or any other part of the county, as Bucky’s come to learn over the past year. Though he’s not exactly sure if that’s the status quo for Rumlow or if it’s just Rumlow being a petty bitter sore loser about losing the election to become sheriff.

 _Fuck it_ , he thinks, speeding up, _I’m on backroads anyway._

“Look, Bucky’ll be home in a couple minutes, if you need to talk to him, so why don’t you just go wait in your jeep?” Tony says, and Bucky can just picture the Socialite Smile he’d perfected long before he ever met Steve and left his family to be with him.

“But I’d rather chat with you, Tony,” Rumlow replies, saccharine sweet. “Besides, I was wondering if you could explain to me why your bond mark isn’t faded anymore. I’ve seen widowed omegas rebond, and since no alpha’s mouth is the exact same, even when an alpha bites over the old bond mark, they never perfectly match up. So, what’s with that? Did you and Barnes get a set of false teeth made based on Rogers’ so he could bite you? Because that seems a little fucked up to me.”

Bucky bites back the snarl, and wrenches the steering wheel, sending gravel and dust flying behind him as he turns onto the gravel road leading to his cabin. Tony’s spluttering, outraged half-words are practically drowned out by the sound of his tires on the gravel. He’s certain Rumlow can hear it over the phone, but this close to the cabin, Bucky no longer gives a fuck.

“I’m not an idiot, as much as Barnes likes to think I am,” Rumlow continues over him, “so shut the fuck up, and take me to them.”

“Them?”

“I know he’s hiding them somewhere. My best guess is here. I’ve staked out all the other options, and I should’ve known. They’re _here_ , I know they are.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Tony. You should do a better job about running around town smelling like a dead man.”

Bucky whips into his driveway, barely stopping before smashing into Rumlow’s jeep, or even pausing to put his in park before he jumps out. Rumlow leans away from Tony’s window with a sharp smile. It takes everything in him to keep from tackling Rumlow.

“Good of you to join us, _Sheriff_.”

“You have five seconds to get off my fucking property, or I’ll take you in for harassing Mr. Rogers,” Bucky snaps.

Rumlow’s smile twists into a scowl. “Careful, Sheriff. I won’t hesitate,” he shifts, and Bucky sees the glint of a pistol, pointed directly at Tony. He feels like he’s been doused in ice water, dread clawing its way up until it's wrapped around his throat.

“What are you _thinking_ , Rumlow?” Bucky demands, mind racing.

“I’m thinking I was paid very, _very_ good money to get back someone’s property, and I know you’ve got it hidden away,” Rumlow responds breezily. “You made a valiant effort, I’ll give you that, but Tony’s bond mark was a bit of a giveaway, you know?”

“Steve is _nobody’s property_ ,” Tony snarls, and Rumlow smiles slow and dark.

Bucky feels sick.

“That thing ain’t Steve, sweetcheeks,” Rumlow says, cruelly, his attention fixed solely on Bucky as he says it. “It might look like him, and smell like him, but it ain’t him. Your mate _died_. That thing is just a science experiment, done by people who’re trying to find the path to immortality. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“He is _not_ -”

“Take me to them, Barnes, or I’ll shoot him,” Rumlow says over Tony. “Maybe I’ll be quick about it, shoot him in the head and give that baby of yours a chance to live. Or maybe I’ll shoot him in the belly, kill that thing and probably Tony too.”

Tony makes a soft, broken little sound, and there’s no choice, there isn’t. There never was. The second Bucky saw that gun, any plan he had to get Rumlow away from Tony and the others flew right out the window.

“What’s it gonna be, Barnes?”

Bucky swallows and closes his eyes for a moment, pleads for one last miracle. “I’ll take you to them.”

“Bucky -”

“Shut up, omega,” Rumlow spits, and reaches through the open window to backhand Tony with his free hand.

The snarl tears out of his throat before he can stop it. He’s going to _kill him_.

“Let’s go, Barnes,” he says, unconcerned, and motions with his pistol towards the cabin. “And Tony, stay _put_ , or I’ll shoot him.”

Tony glares, and slowly leans back into the car’s seat. Bucky’s grateful that he does, though he knows Tony’s probably thinking of a half dozen plans to get them out of this situation. From the corner of his eye he sees the drapes in his bedroom ruffle, and he hopes whoever it was is smart enough to warn the others. He half-hopes it was Steve, if only because Steve knows exactly where Bucky keeps his personal gun locked up. Maria might not remember much, but she _did_ remember being intimately familiar with a gun, and she’d proven it that first week.

Bucky casts a quick glance to Tony, quietly begging him to stay in the car, to _stay safe_ , before walking towards the front door, Rumlow right on his heels. “What’s the plan here, Brock?” he asks as they walk, “I’m a little baffled. Do you think they’ll just go with you willingly?

“You spent a couple weeks protecting them,” Rumlow replies easily, “and I’m betting most of them feel at least a little indebted to you, so they’ll probably cooperate to save your life.”

“You’re sure hanging a lot on them liking me,” Bucky says, hoping to keep him distracted enough he won’t notice Bucky’s hands signing. Hoping Tony will be able to see it, and will understand. “What if they all resent me? I have kept them hidden away.”

Rumlow snorts and prods at Bucky’s spine with the gun. “Rogers is in there,” he says casually, “you reek of him. You must’ve forgotten to shower this morning, huh? You’re not one for mistakes.”

“Thought you said it wasn’t actually Steve,” Bucky counters as they reach the front door.

“You think it is. Now open the door and tell them to cooperate,” he orders.

Bucky exhales sharply, and does as instructed. Everyone is in the front room, standing around uneasily, a half-circle of people Bucky’s been trying to protect since he found them. He feels helpless now, looking at them, their worried expressions.

“Bucky, what’s going on?” Steve asks, stepping forward, eyes glinting.

“Rumlow says if everyone cooperates,” he says instead of answering, “nobody will get hurt.”

“By nobody I mean good ol’ Sheriff Barnes here and that omega out in the car,” Rumlow adds, prodding Bucky inside. “Would hate to see innocent blood shed over some science experiments.”

“ _Science_ _experiments_?” Nat asks, stepping forward. Her hair is tied back from her face, which is unusual, and she’s standing loosely, clearly ready for something. He vaguely remembers Clint mentioning how he knew Nat, something about self-defense classes, and he hopes she’s not going to get herself hurt doing something stupid.

Rumlow sneers. “What else would cause people to climb out of the grave?”

“I think she was more commenting on you referring to us as science experiments as if we’re not humans,” Steve points out coldly, and Rumlow laughs.

“You’re _not_ ,” he says, and jerks his head towards the door, “you’re science experiments, you belong to Advanced Idea Mechanics and I’ve been given a very generous paycheck to deliver you back to them.”

“How does a sheriff’s deputy get recruited to do something like this?” Maria asks, and moves from behind Nat to stand at her shoulder.

“Got my connections,” Rumlow sniffs, then jerks his head again. “Now _get moving_.”

“It’ll be okay you guys,” Bucky murmurs, taking a moment to meet each of their eyes. They’re not convinced, not that Bucky blames them, he wouldn’t be convinced either, but they all nod at him.

One by one they start moving, each eyeing Rumlow as they do.

“Good little science experiments,” Rumlow praises.

It happens in slow motion, almost, when Steve, in the middle of the group, reaches them. He trips, and stumbles into Bucky, who stumbles back into Rumlow with a grunt. Rumlow snarls, shoving at him, and Bucky hits the floor, smacking his head into the edge of the side table as he goes down. He loses his bearings for a moment, and when he starts getting them back there’s shouting, loud and unintelligible, and crashing, and Bucky’s not sure what’s going on.

“C’mon, Bucky, get up,” Peter says from his side, and he grabs Bucky’s arm, pulling him up. “Maria and Nat are terrifying.”

“Wha -” Bucky frowns, wincing and putting a hand to his head.

Thor crouches and gets ahold of Bucky, pulling him up and onto his feet as he stands back up. “Come, there is no time.”

Bucky turns his head, feeling dizzy, and sees Maria and Nat wrestling with Rumlow in the center of the room, the armchair upturned and the coffee table in pieces, glass scattered along the floor. Rumlow’s gun is on the floor in the threshold to the kitchen. He doesn’t see the others, and he hopes they made it outside. He hopes Steve’s with Tony.

“Go on, get out of here,” he manages, shrugging Thor’s and Peter’s hands off of him. “Get to the clinic, call Clint.”

“Come on, Bucky, we’re not leaving without you,” Peter protests.

“ _Go_ ,” Bucky orders, and pushes them both out the front door before whirling around to go for the gun, tripping over a lamp.

Maria gives a pained grunt as Rumlow manages to hit her, tossing her off of him and twisting out of Nat’s hold. Bucky grabs the gun and turns back. Rumlow snarls wordlessly, and pulls his service pistol from the holster on his hip.

“Drop it, Rumlow,” he yells at the same time Nat snarls right back at Rumlow and lunges. “Nat, no!”

“Feisty for an experiment!” Rumlow laughs breathlessly. He staggers a bit under Nat’s weight on his back but manages to find his balance before tossing his head back into her face. She drops with a groan, landing in a heap, and Rumlow turns his focus on Bucky, aiming his gun at him.

“Bucky! Shoot!” Maria yells.

He takes the shot.

* * *

Watching Bucky walk away with Rumlow digging the muzzle of a pistol into his back while he just _sits there_ is one of the hardest things Tony’s ever had to do. He’d go so far as to say that it’s right up there with watching them lower Steve’s casket into the ground. He’d been helpless then, Steve _gone_ and all he could do was watch as a fancy box with his body was lowered into the ground.

He feels helpless now, too. He’s pregnant, he’s got to think of his baby, first, before anyone else. It _kills him_.

So he sits there in his car, and he watches. It’s a long walk to the front door. It’s _excruciating_ . It feels like time has slowed down. Then he sees Bucky’s hands, at his side, making motions. It takes him a moment, but then he realizes Bucky’s trying to _sign_. He thinks it’d work better if Clint were here to see, he knows they’ve got their own subtle signing down pat and -

_Clint!_

Tony reaches for his phone still sitting in the cupholder, and hangs up the phone call with Bucky’s phone before bringing up Clint’s number. He watches Rumlow herd Bucky into the cabin, and his heart twists anxiously, pounding hard against his sternum. Clint’s phone goes to voicemail, and Tony curses softly, hanging up and redialing with the hopes that Clint just didn’t get to his phone in time.

He presses his free hand to his chest as he waits, eyes rapt on the front door, and nearly sobs in relief when Clint picks up.

“Tony?”

“You need to get to the cabin _now_ ,” he says, half desperate, “it’s Rumlow.”

“Rumlow, what? Tony -”

“Just _hurry_ , Clint, _please_ ,” Tony pleads, just as the front door opens and J stumbles out, Wade right behind her, the both of them looking harried and a little pissed off. Tony hangs up in the middle of Clint’s questions and tosses his phone onto the passenger seat before scrambling out of the car as quickly as he can.

“Tony,” Wade yells, eyes going wide, “what are you doing? Get back in the car, it’s not safe!”

“Like hell!” Tony shouts back, and nearly trips when there’s a sudden yell and ruckus, and Steve’s rushing out of the cabin like it’s on fire, making a beeline right for him.

“Sunflower, get back to the car, please baby,” Steve says as he runs, and Tony chews anxiously on his lip, looking over Steve’s shoulder to try and see inside.

Wade and J follow close behind Steve, Wade too tall and broad and blocking Tony’s view, and all he can think is that Bucky hasn’t come out yet, nor have any of the others, and he doesn’t know -

_What if I never see Bucky alive again?_

“Sweetheart, please,” Steve murmurs, and when did he reach Tony? He reaches up, his hands coming up to cup Tony’s face, tugging a little until he’s looking down to meet Steve’s eyes. “My love, we need to get into the car, so we can leave as soon as the others make it out and get in themselves, okay?”

Tony cranes around, hoping for an unobstructed view. “What about Bucky?”

“The others are going to take care of it, love, much as I'd _love_ to rip Rumlow's throat out for daring to touch you,” Steve replies, assurance dipping into a snarling bite before leveling out to something strained, in between.

“The others, they'll protect him,” Wade adds, moving to block Tony's view completely, like he thinks Tony can't handle seeing violence, or at least shouldn't see it.

He glares at Wade half-heartedly, no energy left to be affronted.

“Don’t give me that look,” Wade protests with a little pout, “Barnes’ll never forgive me if I let his mates get hurt.”

“Hey,” Steve protests, “I don’t need protecting!”

“How about we all swallow our pride and get in the _fucking car_ , eh?” J hisses with a pointed shove that sends Wade stumbling into Steve. “I don’t know if any of you can hear all that breaking glass and fist fight commotion over your squabbling, but we need to be ready to leave as soon as the others get out!”

Tony lets Steve usher him back to the car, gaze rapt on the front door now that Wade’s not blocking his view. He can’t actually see anything, but he keeps hoping Bucky will come running out the front door, safe and sound. He feels like everything’s slipping through is fingers, like trying to hold water in his cupped hands.

He feels like the world is gearing up to tear him apart again, rip from him everything he never knew he could have.

“Oh sunflower,” Steve murmurs and cups his face again, stepping into Tony’s line of sight and blocking the front door. “Sunflower, you’re not going to lose this, you get to _keep this_ , I swear. I will do everything in my power, me and Bucky both -”

Gunshots cut Steve off, and Tony clutches Steve’s wrists, feeling his knees go weak and wobbly. He watches the color drain from Steve’s face, and all he can hear is his own heartbeat thundering in his ears, a sick counterpoint to the sudden roaring.

“Right,” Wade says firmly, and starts carefully pushing them into the backseat of the car, shutting the door behind them. “J, take Barnes’ jeep, and I'll get these two to safety, and we'll meet back at Doc Banner's once you've got everyone.”

Steve curls around him as best he can in the cramped back seat, burying his face in Tony’s neck. He holds Tony tight, squeezing around Tony’s shoulders, thin body trembling against Tony. He holds Tony like he’s trying to keep both of them from splintering apart

Tony just...sits there, arms at his side, staring blankly at the smoky grey of the leather upholstery. Distantly, he thinks he’s in shock, and with a sharp, biting pang, he realizes that they’d never decided on what they were going to teach the baby to call them. It’s all, it seems, his mind is capable of thinking about, now.

“I know you’re going to have a hard time listening to me, or even believing me, but we don’t know that he’s dead, okay,” Wade says as he tears out of the driveway, gravel flying. His voice sounds far away and underwater. Or like it’s Tony that’s underwater. “Just try to remember that. We don’t know that he’s dead.”

Neither of them say anything in response, and Wade blows out a breath but doesn’t try to coax them into talking.

They would know, if they’d had the chance to do a proper bonding. Tony had known immediately when Steve died, and not just because he’d been glued to Steve’s hospital bed the entire time. He’d _felt_ it, the way the bond mark burned then went numb as the connection faded into nothingness.

He couldn’t stand the sight of his own reflection, after, nor the feeling of anyone coming near his neck. He’d tripped all over himself scrambling to get away from Rhodey the first time he’d tried wrapping a hand around the back of his neck for a comforting squeeze, the one form of comfort Tony’d _never_ turned away beforehand. He’d done so much, gone through so much pains, to ignore the emptiness where his bond with Steve once was that he hadn’t actually noticed when it came back.

When they get to the clinic, it takes Wade and Bruce both to coax them out of the car and inside. They sink down onto one of the loveseats scattered around the small waiting room.

Tony thinks he’d maybe be enraged that Wade had taken them from the cabin, away from Bucky, if he could feel. He wonders if Steve’s in shock, too, or if his instincts are at war, to defend Bucky, to protect Tony. Would he have gone in after Bucky if Tony hadn’t been there? Would he have even left Bucky alone in the first place?

Would Tony have lost them both?

“Here’s a couple blankets you two,” Bruce says gently as he places soft, blue blankets on the arm of the loveseat. “Bundle up, get warm, and I’ll make you some tea, okay?”

“What are we going to do if Rumlow shows up _here_?” Wade asks, hovering by the little fireplace set into the wall opposite their loveseat.

“I’ve got a back room where I store expensive equipment. I’ll just hide you guys back there,” Bruce answers, pausing to squeeze Wade’s shoulder. “I’ll call Clint.”

 _I already called Clint_ , Tony thinks.

After a beat, Steve shifts enough to snatch the blankets from the arm, mechanically spreading one across their laps and wrapping the other around their shoulders, pressing close into Tony’s side, angled to protect Tony’s belly.

He loses track of time, after that. Bruce brings that tea he promised at some point. Wade paces, drinks some tea, plops down on the floor in front of the fireplace, paces some more.

Tony spends his time trying to empty his mind. He counts his breathes, in and out and in and out, his hands low on his stomach, just resting, holding.

A commotion at the front door pulls him from his concentration, and a moment later Nat and Maria burst into the room, blood on their hands, on their faces and necks. They drag Bruce back outside, and Tony shoves to his feet before Steve can gather his wits and keep him sitting there.

Wade intercepts him before he can leave the waiting room, putting an arm across the doorway, flinching when Steve snarls and springs up off of the loveseat. Tony glares at Wade, desperate to get outside, to _see_.

“I’m not touching him, so you can just stick that posturing back up your ass, Rogers,” Wade says loudly, then a little quieter, to Tony, “I can’t let you go out there yet, you’re already stressed enough as it is. Think of your baby.”

“ _Fuck_ you,” Tony snaps, and shoves Wade out of his way.

Wade grunts in surprise, staggering back a step, and Tony darts out of the room before Wade can stop him. He feels Steve right behind him, so  close he runs into Tony when he freezes on the front porch. Tony stumbles forward a step before catching himself on the railing.

“- were you _thinking_ , Barton?” Bruce is demanding, looking harried as he pushes Peter out of the way to get a look at Bucky. Peter’s covered in blood, his bare chest streaked with it, streaks in his hair and on his face, on his hands and arms.

“I was thinking _you’re a doctor_ ,” Clint exclaims, “and there is a _dead body_ in Bucky’s cabin, and Bucky’s _dying_.”

“He needs a _hospital_ ,” Bruce stresses, and blows out a breath. “Help me get him inside, we’ll see if I can get this patched up.”

“Is - Bruce, is he going to be okay?” Tony finally manages to spit out, moving towards them where they’re clustered around the back of Clint’s jeep. “Is Bucky going to be okay?”

“Tony, you should be inside,” he replies calmly, angling his body more, hiding Bucky from sight.

“ _Bruce_ ,” Tony rasps.

“Come on, Tony,” Clint says, meeting Tony halfway, carefully urging Tony back towards the clinic. “This is Brucie, Bucky’ll be just fine.”

Clint’s covered in blood, too. Not nearly as badly as Peter, but it’s still a lot. Tony hopes it’s not all Bucky’s.

 _There is a dead body in Bucky’s cabin_.

Tony turns to look back at Steve, feeling lost. Steve’s staring intensely at Bruce and Peter and the back of the jeep, wide-eyed, frozen. Tony’s heart twists. He's been there, and as much as he never wanted to relive the experience, he wants even less for Steve to be there now.

“Steve,” he says, gently, walking back towards him, hand outstretched, “honey, I'm here.”

He doesn't really know what else to say; there were no words that would have comforted _him_ , then, and Steve's never been one to accept empty reassurance. Trying to give him that now would only upset him further.

Steve startles when Tony places his hand on Steve's where it's gripping the railing, and in the next moment he's got his hands on Tony, tugging him up into his arms, burying his face in Tony's neck. They almost topple backwards as he does it, but luckily for them Wade's right there to catch them, using his shoulder to keep Steve upright as Steve wraps his arms around Tony, hands running over whatever he can reach, looking for injuries that aren't there. Tony doesn't fight it, just sinks into Steve's embrace with the hope that this is bringing Steve some kind of comfort.

Wade carefully maneuvers them to the side to clear up the entrance, and Tony watches, almost detached, as Clint, Bruce, Thor, and Peter carry Bucky up the handful of steps and into the clinic. Steve keeps his face tucked into Tony’s throat, trembling, and Tony tightens his own arms around Steve. The door slams shut behind the procession with one loud bang that echoes into the evening air before being swallowed by silence.

* * *

_~Ten Months Later~_

“She’s already so big!” Rhodey exclaims, making a beeline for Sarah’s playpen as soon as he walks through the front door. “Aren’t you, Sarah, you’re getting so big!”

Sarah cooes and giggles, clapping her hands together excitedly.

Steve grins, and goes back to chopping the onions he'd been working on before the ruckus Rhodey's SUV pulling into the drive had created. Pepper moves around him with a bowl of ground beef ready to be made into meatballs. The kitchen is warm and full of the scent of cooking, the way it should be, and Steve’s grateful that Pepper and Rhodey were able to take the time off to come back out again.

The first time, after everything, had been…interesting. He thinks they were just lucky Jan had already been there and in the know a few weeks before they’d shown up. Trying to explain everything that’d happened - explain how he’d _come back from the dead -_ would have been a lot harder without Jan. Tony could have done it, of course, but at the time he’d been… Tony hadn’t been in the right headspace for it.

“Rhodey, are you spoiling my child?” Tony demands, coming out of the bathroom with a fond smile.

“And if I am?”

Tony laughs and joins him beside Sarah’s playpen. “Well if you weren’t I’d have to revoke your godfather privileges and give them to Peter and Wade. They’re over here all the time spoiling the hell out of her. Isn’t that right my little bee?”

“Steve, you’re going to cut your fingers off at this rate,” Pepper scolds him, and he jerks his gaze back down to the cutting board.

“Sorry,” he mutters, flushing, and finishes with the onion in his hand.

Pepper laughs softly and pats his shoulder. “Don’t be sorry, I don’t blame you for watching them.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, and feels a smile spread unbidden.

“Who all is going to be here, again?”

“Us, obviously, and Clint, um, Nat and Maria said they’d try to make it, then we’ve got Wade and Peter. Thor, but not ‘til later, and Jessica. Bruce, if there aren’t any patients that show up at the clinic. Jan, Hank, and Hope, too.”

Pepper makes a considering noise. “Sorry, which one is which, again? I know you said that most of you had all been found together...”

“All of us but Jessica and Wade. Wade, apparently, was the first one to claw his way out of the grave, and stumbled off before Bucky arrived at the cemetery. Jessica says she pulled herself out of the mud in the middle of the day. We’re still not totally certain why it took her so long.”

“Jessica is the...angry brunet, right?”

Steve snorts. “Angry’s a word for it, yeah,” he nods, and turns to the sink to rinse off the knife and cutting board. “You’ll know her when you see her, I promise.”

“Hm,” Pepper hums. “This all still sounds….unreal.”

“Imagine how it _feels_ ,” Steve jokes.

Pepper flushes lightly and whaps Steve gently on his shoulder with the spoon. “Don’t you start with me, Rogers,” she says around stifled laughter.

“Hey,” he laughs, dodging away from another swipe of the spoon, “m’just sayin’.”

“Pepper, why are you beating up my alpha?” Tony asks, leaning in through the little window on the wall between kitchen and living room.

“He’s teasing me,” Pepper replies promptly.

Steve smiles and shakes his head. “I was only reminding her that if she thinks the whole coming back from the dead thing _sounds_ weird…”

“Okay, okay, we get your point, Mr. Zombie,” Pepper grumbles, grinning widely, and goes back to poking at the ground beef browning in a frying pan.

“Clint texted me,” Tony says quietly, leaning further through the window until Steve rolls his eyes fondly and meets him for a little kiss. “Mmm. Said they’ll be here in a bit, half hour tops.”

“It’ll be okay, sunflower,” Steve promises, darting forward to kiss Tony’s forehead before he can pull back from the window. “There’s no blame here, you know that.”

Tony licks his lips and looks away, over to Sarah and Rhodey, then back to Steve. “I - I know that. I do. It’s just, he’s going to have desk duty for the rest of his life, and he _hates_ desk duty. He loved being the sheriff.”

“I know,” he replies gently. “Gimme a second? I wanna wash my hands.”

“Hm, ‘kay,” Tony hums, and shuffles the couple feet over to the barstools, watching Steve as he moves over to the sink.

Pepper keeps her gaze focused on the stove, but Steve knows she’s listening, just a little, and he doesn’t really blame her. He knows she’s worried about Tony, her and Rhodey and Happy. They all are. Postpartum is nothing to sneeze at.

He flicks water from his hands before drying them off on the towel hanging from a cabinet handle, then walks out of the kitchen and around the wall to where Tony’s swivelling the bar stool, watching his feet swing from side to side. His heart clenches in his chest, and not for the first time he wishes Bucky were here.

 _Soon_ , he reminds himself firmly.

“Sweetheart, it’s not your fault, and Bucky will tell you the same thing when he walks through that door and sees you moping about when we’re supposed to be celebrating his release to come home for good.”

“I’m not _moping_ ,” Tony protests, then sighs when Steve arches his brows at him. “Okay, fine, maybe I’m moping a little. It’s just - he didn’t want to see me, or you, _or_ Sarah, and - and I know it’s mostly just that alpha hindbrain of his, but -”

“But it still hurts,” Steve finishes, and wraps his arms around Tony’s waist, resting his head against Tony’s chest, listening to the _thump-thump-thump_ of Tony’s heart.

Everything had been such a clusterfuck, all at once. Tony going into labor while the others were busy scrambling about the clinic trying to save Bucky’s life. The labor itself, rough and frightening and long. Steve thought he’d lose them both that day, them and the baby, and wouldn’t it just be like the fates to take them from him the way he was taken from them? After Sarah had been born, they’d rushed Tony into surgery, put in his pacemaker while they were at it, just as they were bringing Bucky out of surgery.

And then another surgery, a month later, for complications caused by the first one, and when Bucky came out of that one, he’d been down an arm. He’d refused to see any of them in the aftermath. Nat had gone and read him the riot act, and came back pale and tense as she explained to Steve just how bad Bucky’s mental state was. Clint’s assured them he’s gotten much better, that he’s _excited_ to see them, that he’s unlikely to freeze up and turn his back on them like he had the few times they’d tried visiting him. Clint informed them that Bucky’s even been practicing holding a baby with just the one arm.

It’d been hard. Between that and the postpartum… Steve’s just grateful the others had been there. He’s not sure he would have managed without them.

“What if - what if he and Sarah don’t bond?” Tony asks fretfully, pulling Steve out of his thoughts. “What if she doesn’t want anything to do with him?”

“She’ll take to him right away,” Steve insists, nuzzling into Tony’s throat. “We’ve played her enough videos of Bucky she’ll recognize his voice, maybe even his face.”

“Clint said Bucky’s hair’s down to his shoulders, now,” Tony mumbles into Steve’s hair. “What if that’s enough to make him unrecognizable to her?”

“Well, sunflower, she’s also slept with one of his hoodies every night since she was born. She’ll recognize his scent, no matter what.”

“Heads up everybody, a creepy guy in a cheap suit is walking up to the front door!” Wade declares as he walks into the house, Peter a step behind him with a basket in his arms.

“ _Wade_ ,” Peter sighs loudly. “You don’t get to call someone creepy after you’ve _hit on them_.”

Wade spins to walk backwards long enough to blow Peter a kiss before turning back around and zeroing in on Sarah and Rhodey. Peter rolls his eyes fondly and carries the basket over to kitchen table. Mr. Cheap Suit Guy - or, as Steve and everyone else calls him, Coulson, Clint’s in with...something Steve’s still not clear on, just that Coulson helped get everyone the proper papers and take care of Steve’s records - comes in with a bottle of wine in hand, and closes the door carefully even as he gives Wade an exasperated look.

“Clint was just behind me in traffic, though they were stopped by a red light,” Coulson informs them as he comes closer. “They should be here very soon.”

Tony makes a soft sound, and clutches tighter at Steve.

“Shh,” he soothes, pressing a kiss to Tony’s bond mark. “It’ll be just fine.”

“Damn right it will be,” Wade declares, cradling Sarah against his chest and ignoring Rhodey’s scowl. “If not I’ll just have to kick his ass, isn’t that right Sarah-bear?”

Sarah cooes, little feet kicking against Wade’s stomach as she reaches chubby little hands up to pat Wade’s face. Steve smiles, trying not to laugh when Rhodey pouts in their direction. Tony cracks a small smile, which seems to be what Rhodey was aiming for, considering the next moment he’s wandering off to investigate the basket Peter brought.

“C’mon, love, let’s go get our little bee before Wade goes off and hides with her,” he whispers with another kiss to Tony’s bond mark before pulling out of his arms.

Tony snorts and hops down off the barstool. “Wade knows what I would do to him if he stole my child,” he says cheerfully, and heads off towards their bedroom instead. “I’m gonna grab that thing we got him,” he says over his shoulder.

Steve grins, and goes over to Wade and Sarah, making kissy faces at her when he reaches them. “Hi there honeybee,” he murmurs, and takes her when Wade passes her to him with a pout. “You ready to meet your other daddy, huh?”

“Ah!”

“Yeah?” Steve nuzzles her, kissing the fine, dark hair on her head. There was no getting away from those dark locks, even if red hair ran in Bucky’s family and blond on Tony’s mother’s side, but Sarah got Bucky’s eyes. The brightest blue-grey Steve’s ever seen, still, even though Tony’d been _certain_ they’d eventually turn brown. Of course, if they had, they’d still be some of the prettiest eyes. Tony has the prettiest brown eyes Steve’s ever seen.

“Dah!” Sarah insists, and Steve blinks down at her. “Dah! Dah!”

“Yeah,” Steve whispers, awed, “yeah honeybee, your daddy.”

“Good morning Starshine, the Earth says hello!” Clint’s voice declares loudly as he shoulders the door open and trips into the house.

“Why are you the way that you are?” Bucky’s voice, hoarse, precedes him into the house, and then he’s _there_ , standing just inside the doorway with a duffle bag in his hand.

Steve clutches Sarah a little bit tighter to his chest, feeling - he doesn’t know how he’s feeling, exactly. He just knows Bucky looks thinner, gaunt, maybe, and scruffier than he normally let himself get. His hair is longer, just like Clint had said, hanging in his face like he’s trying to hide behind it. Steve’s heart squeezes painfully in his chest at the thought.

“C’mon, guys, let’s give ‘em some privacy,” Rhodey says, and herds everyone out into the backyard.

Sarah arches back, arms shooting up as she squeals happily. Bucky’s gaze snaps to her, and his everything just _softens_. He drops the duffle and shuffles towards them, trembling with each step. Steve braces Sarah some more, and sends Bucky a wobbly smile.

“Hey, Buck,” he says softly.

“Hey,” Bucky croaks, and lifts his hand to brush his fingers lightly along Sarah’s cheek.

She stills, going wide-eyed, head turning towards Bucky’s hand. “Dah! Buh!” Sarah babbles, and stretches her arms out towards him.

Bucky gives Steve a panicked look. “She -”

“We had her sleeping with your hoodies,” Steve says, smiling gently, “and we played lots of home videos of you so she would recognize your face and voice.”

“Buh! Dah! Buh!”

“Yeah, Sarah-bee, that’s your daddy,” Steve confirms, ducking his head to nuzzle his nose into her cheek. “You gonna say hello to your kid, Buck?”

“Hi - hi there, sweetheart,” Bucky chokes out, his eyes bright and brimming with tears. “M’so glad to finally meet you. Sorry I couldn’t do it sooner.”

“Buh!” Sarah squirms some more, and Steve huffs, adjusting her so her back’s to his chest. She uses this new position to get her hands on Bucky’s hair, tugging happily with one hand as she lets the other wander up to explore the scraggly beard Steve still can’t believe Bucky’s grown. “Buh! Buh!”

“ _Oh_ ,” Tony gasps, coming out of the bedroom, his gaze locking on Bucky and Sarah and Steve.

Bucky winces, and carefully, hesitantly turns to face him. “Hi, beautiful,” he rasps.

Tony makes a small, choked noise, and stumbles the last few steps to them, throwing his arms around Bucky’s shoulders. He tucks his face into the crook of Bucky’s neck, his fingers clenching tightly on the handles of the bag in his right hand. Bucky hesitates only for a moment before he wraps his arm around Tony’s waist.

“Bucks,” Tony mumbles, and Bucky shudders a little, hiding his face in Tony’s hair.

“I’ve missed you, darling,” he murmurs.

“Missed you too, Bucks.”

Bucky tightens his arm around Tony’s waist, sucking in a shuddery breath. “I’m sorry, sweetheart -”

“Mah! Mah mah mah mah!” Sarah shrieks, little legs and arms flailing excitedly. “Dah! Mah! Buh!”

Tony laughs wetly, and after another moment he pulls away from Bucky enough to look at them over Bucky’s shoulder. “Yeah Sarah-bee,” he murmurs, smiling, a small besotted thing.

Steve takes the few steps between them, and tilts his head forward until his forehead is pressed between Bucky’s shoulder blades, Sarah snug between their bodies. One of Tony’s hands shifts, fingers tangling in Steve’s hair. Steve wraps his free arm around Bucky’s waist, hand settling on Tony’s hip, and he closes his eyes. Bucky and Sarah cocooned between them, surrounded. Safe.

 _Home_.

Bucky shudders and chokes on a sob.

“We’ve got you, Buck, no matter what,” Steve whispers. “You’re ours, and we’re yours, and we’ll _always have you_.”

“Always and forever,” Tony confirms, “no matter what.”

_~fin~_

**Author's Note:**

> the inscription on steve's wedding ring (your life is my life's best part) was inspired by/taken from the lyric (your life was my life's best part) in the song _you_ by keaton henson (which i may or may not have listened to quite a lot while writing this fic).
> 
> the poem on steve's headstone is _do not stand at my grave and weep_ by mary elizabeth frye.
> 
> list of almost titles (and no joke, this is drastically thinned out. at one point there were 20+ to pick from) and where they came from/were inspired by:  
> just our hands (clasped so tight) [i will follow you into the dark by deathcab for cutie]  
> my heart's always with you now [gunslinger by avenged sevenfold]  
> there is thunder in our hearts [running up that hill by placebo]  
> time has brought your heart to me [a thousand years by christina perri]  
> so close no matter how far [nothing else matters by metallica]  
> 'til we reach the circle's end [when you come back to me again by garth brooks]  
> i won't let go [i won't let go by rascal flatts]  
> i am not there (i did not die) [ _do not stand at my grave and weep_ by mary elizabeth frye]


End file.
